Lessons from a Stocking.

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In the food chain of stockings, it's nothing special, but something deep within stirred when my mother recently sent this childhood relic. Making her way through some long-ignored Christmas box, no doubt, she found this glimpse of Christmas past and decided to send it to her 54 year-old little boy. Like few other objects, it carried me back to the Dr. Denton mornings of rushing to the fireplace in my parents’ room at first light where my stocking hung, farthest on the right.

 Such time travel can lead to stifling nostalgia, but it can also feed an adult’s soul. To remember when life was not so complicated, when the content of a stocking was a great concern, can renew one’s heart. To feel again the joy and happiness that is uniquely Christmas can awaken one to the years of debris that now clouds our spiritual receptors. 

I was told by a reliable source that if I am to receive the Kingdom of God, I am to become like a child. It was a lesson heard too early, before I could understand it’s meaning, but the stocking now hanging on our mantle teaches the lesson anew. 

So bring on the lights . . . turn up the carols . . . and hold on tight to the people and traditions that speak to your heart! 

Let’s go back, if only for a moment. Let’s stop squinting at the world and open our eyes wide again. Let’s lift our burdened shoulders and dance. Let’s race our children to Christmas morning, where hanging on the mantle is all we need to know.

Practicing Incarnation

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Advent I: Practicing Incarnation

A seasonal shift in religious focus is both a good and bad thing. It’s good because changing spiritual gears and traveling in a new way renews our focus. The problem comes when our heightened focus suggests God is active only in particular ways at particular times. The resurrection we celebrate at Easter is not unique to spring. It happens every day, in tombs of all shapes and sizes. So, too, the wonder of incarnation uniquely honored at Christmas happens in all sorts of “stables” throughout the year.

With that in mind, I wonder what it would look like if we did not wait for December 25th to celebrate the incarnation – Emmanuel or God-with-us. What if the gift of Christmas arrived early this year because we called forth the presence of God in our daily lives . . . in the conversations we have with strangers and loved ones . . . in time spent with our children or work colleagues . . . in the gifts made or notes written?

Practicing incarnation could be a wonderful way to prepare for Christmas. I know God does not need us to become present in the world. Actually, I think it’s the other way around. 

Letting Leaves Fall

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On a recent hike, I breathed deeply and tried to take in the wonders of Fall. There were many leaves already on the ground, crunching under my feet, teams twirling in the air like synchronized dancers, and still others clinging brightly to the trees.

Despite the fact that the season points to winter’s inevitable chill, Fall remains my favorite time of year. Perhaps it’s because of my time in New England, where I think God invented the season, or the fact that I spent much of my time in the school world where Fall marks an electrifying season of new life, but, whatever the reason, it’s a season that awakens my soul in surprising ways.

As I made my way along the familiar trail, I noticed I could see things usually shrouded by the leaves. I saw mountains not usually visible, and noticed as clouds and birds swirled above. All of it was visible because the leaves had fallen.

For me, it was a reminder that I could create such a season in my personal and spiritual life. Like the leaves twirling in the air and those resting on the ground, this could be a season in which I let things twirl from my to-do list and routine social obligations rest on the ground, revealing distant sights and cooler breezes.

New leaves will arrive, bringing new life and fresh air, but now is the season to let leaves fall, air chill, and views appear.

To everything there is a season . . .  inside as well as outside. A gust of gratitude swirls within like the breeze blowing the leaves.