Through a Glass, Darkly

I will never have another year like this. But it sure was fun while it lasted.

January
1. The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper (f)
2. Forever in Blue: The Fourth Summer of the Sisterhood by Ann Brashares (f)
3. Passion by Jude Morgan (f)
4. Greenwitch by Susan Cooper (f)
5. The Grey King by Susan Cooper (f)
6. The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald (f)
7. Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time by Rob Sheffield (nf)
8. Prayer: Does it Make Any Difference? by Philip Yancey (nf)
9. Labyrinth by Kate Mosse (f)
10. The Mathematics of Love by Emma Darwin (f)
11. Love Walked In by Marisa de los Santos (f)
12. Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll (f)
13. Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks (f)

February
14. The Emperor’s Children by Claire Messud (f)
15. But Enough About Me: A Jersey Girl’s Unlikely Adventures Among the Absurdly Famous by Jancee Dunn (nf)
16. The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld (f)
17. The History of Love by Nicole Krauss (f)
18. Midwives by Chris Bohjalian (f)
19. Because She Can by Bridie Clark (f)
20. The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak (f)
21. On Beauty by Zadie Smith (f)
22. Here’s to Hindsight: Letters to My Former Self by Tara Leigh Cobble (nf)
23. The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon (f)
24. I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman by Nora Ephron (nf) (bookclub)
25. Heat by Bill Buford (nf)
26. Gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson (f)

March
27. Innocent Traitor: A Novel of Lady Jane Grey by Alison Weir (f)
28. Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion by Sara Miles (nf)
29. The Dead Fathers Club by Matt Haig (f)
30. The Higher Power of Lucky by Susan Patron (f)
31. The Knitting Circle by Ann Hood (f)
32. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson (f) (reread)
33. Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith by Kathleen Norris (nf)
34. Queen of Broken Hearts by Cassandra King (f)
35. The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory (f)
36. The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards (f) (bookclub)
37. Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott (nf)
38. Whitethorn Woods by Maeve Binchy (f)
39. The Spellman Files by Lisa Lutz (f)

April
40. Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (nf)
41. Acceptance by Susan Coll (f)
42. Cures for Heartbreak by Margo Rabb (f)
43. Can’t Wait to Get to Heaven by Fannie Flagg (f) (bookclub)
44. The Queen’s Fool by Philippa Gregory (f)
45. The Road by Cormac McCarthy (f)
46. The Virgin’s Lover by Philippa Gregory (f)
47. Easter Everywhere by Darcey Steinke (nf)
48. The Camel Bookmobile by Masha Hamilton (f)
49. The Good Husband of Zebra Drive by Alexander McCall Smith (f)
50. The Rossetti Letter by Christi Phillips (f)
51. Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris (f)

May
52. Stalking the Divine by Kristin Ohlson (nf)
53. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling (f) (reread)
54. The Six Wives of Henry VIII by Alison Weir (nf)
55. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling (f) (reread)
56. A Swift Pure Cry by Siobhan Dowd (f)
57. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling (f) (reread)
58. The Next Thing on My List by Jill Smolinski (f)
59. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling (f) (reread)
60. The Boleyn Inheritance by Philippa Gregory (f)
61. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini (f) (bookclub)
62. A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas (nf) (bookclub)
63. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling (f) (reread)
64. Summer Reading by Hilma Wolitzer (f)

June
65. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling (f) (reread)
66. Austenland by Shannon Hale (f)
67. The Last Summer (of You and Me) by Ann Brashares (f)
68. Grief Girl by Erin Vincent (nf)
69. The Distance from the Heart of Things by Ashley Warlick (f)
70. Rules for Saying Goodbye by Katherine Taylor (f)
71. Anatomy of a Boyfriend by Daria Snadowsky (f)
72. The Maytrees by Annie Dillard (f)
73. The Faith Club by Ranya Idilby, Suzanne Oliver, and Priscilla Warner (nf) (bookclub)
74. Strange Relations by Sonia Levitin (f)
75. The Year of My Miraculous Reappearance by Catherine Ryan Hyde (f)
76. My Summer of Southern Discomfort by Stephanie Gayle (f)

July
77. Flies on the Butter by Denise Hildreth (f)
78. Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen (f)
79. Quaker Summer by Lisa Samson (f)
80. Evolution, Me, and Other Freaks of Nature by Robin Brande (f)
81. Possession by A.S. Byatt (f) (reread) (summer reading)
82. A Field Guide to High School by Marissa Walsh (f)
83. On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan (f)
84. Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky (f)
85. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling (f)
86. MuggleNet.com’s What Will Happen in Harry Potter Seven by Ben Schoen, Andy Gordon, Jamie Lawrence, and Emerson Spartz (nf)
87. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling (f) (reread)
88. Portrait of an Unknown Woman by Vanora Bennett (f)

August
89. Coffee at Luke’s edited by Jennifer Crusie (nf)
90. The Careful Use of Compliments by Alexander McCall Smith (f)
91. Senior Year by Dan Shaughnessy (nf)
92. Hard Row by Margaret Maron (f)
93. Satisfaction by Gillian Greenwood (f)
94. Looking for God in Harry Potter by John Granger (nf)
95. An Abundance of Katherines by John Green (f)
96. Looking for Alaska by John Green (f)
97. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (nf)
98. The Annotated Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen annotated by David M. Shapard (f) (bookclub)
99. Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen (f)

September
100. The Discovery of Heaven by Harry Mulisch (f) (bookclub)
101. Evening by Susan Minot (f)
102. Songs Without Words by Ann Packer (f)
103. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle (f) (reread)
104. The Alchemyst: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel by Michael Scott (f)
105. Atonement by Ian McEwan (f)
106. Stormy Weather by Paulette Jiles (f)
107. Peony in Love by Lisa See (f)
108. Consequences by Penelope Lively (f)
109. Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See (f) (bookclub)
110. Away by Amy Bloom (f)
111. The Feast of Love by Charles Baxter (f)
112. Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him by Danielle Ganek (f)

October
113. Digging to America by Anne Tyler (f)
114. Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List by David Levithan and Rachel Cohn (f)
115. Run by Ann Patchett (f)
116. The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Liberally as Possible by A.J. Jacobs (nf)
117. The Abstinence Teacher by Tom Perrotta (f)
118. A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L’Engle (f) (reread)
119. The Alchemist by Paul Coehlo (f)
120. Virgin Time by Patricia Hampl (nf) (bookclub)
121. The Birth of Venus by Sarah Dunant (f)
122. Playing for Pizza by John Grisham (f)
123. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky (f)

November
124. The Zookeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman (nf)
125. Love Over Scotland by Alexander McCall Smith (f)
126. A Crooked Kind of Perfect by Linda Urban (f)
127. Loving Frank by Nancy Horan (f)
128. The Sweet, Terrible, Glorious Year I Truly Completely Lost It by Lisa Shanahan (f)
129. Before I Die by Jenny Downham (f)
130. Raleigh’s Page by Alan Armstrong (f)
131. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl (f) (reread)
132. A Swiftly Tilting Planet by Madeleine L’Engle (f)
133. The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman (f)
134. Story of a Girl by Sara Zarr (f)
135. Epistles by Mark Jarman (poetry)
136. Life as it Comes by Anne-Laure Bondoux (f)

December
137. Many Waters by Madeleine L’Engle (f) (reread)
138. Wintersong by Madeleine L’Engle and Luci Shaw (nf/poetry)
139. Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen (f)
140. The City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau (f)
141. Miracle on 10th Street by Madeleine L’Engle (nf/poetry)
142. The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke (f)
143. Surviving the Applewhites by Stephanie S. Tolen (f)
144. The People of Sparks by Jeanne DuPrau (f)
145. How Not to be Popular by Jennifer Ziegler (f) (review to come)
146. The Glorious Impossible by Madeleine L’Engle (nf) (reread)
147. Twilight by Stephenie Meyer (f)
148. New Moon by Stephenie Meyer (f)
149. The Christmas Mystery by Jostein Gaarder (f) (reread)
150. Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer (f)
151. The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart (f)
152. The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick (f)

My absolute favorite of the year:
-Atonement by Ian McEwan (which, of course, I never wrote anything about, partly because it blew me away)

Some other favorites:
-Forever in Blue: The Fourth Summer of the Sisterhood by Ann Brashares (a fitting ending to a series I loved)
-Prayer: Does it Make Any Difference? by Philip Yancey
-Love Walked In by Marisa de los Santos (maybe the most fun book I read all year)
-The Emperor’s Children by Claire Messud
-The History of Love by Nicole Krauss (I hope to reread this someday)
-Midwives by Chris Bohjalian (I couldn’t put this one down)
-The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak (it’s grown on me since finishing it - definitely a book I’ll remember)
-On Beauty by Zadie Smith
-Heat by Bill Buford
-Gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson (I liked it so much more than I expected)
-Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion by Sara Miles
-Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith by Kathleen Norris
-Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott
-The Road by Cormac McCarthy (I can’t even make a pithy little comment about this one)
-Can’t Wait to Get to Heaven by Fannie Flagg (nothing beat this for sheer laugh-out-loud value)
-A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini (not a book I’ll forget easily)
-The Maytrees by Annie Dillard (I want to be Annie Dillard when I grow up)
-Evolution, Me, and Other Freaks of Nature by Robin Brande (such a fun book, so many nasty comments that had to be deleted)
-Possession by A.S. Byatt (enjoyed it more than ever before)
-Looking for Alaska by John Green (this is another one that will stick with me)
-Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (I hope it changed my life)
-Digging to America by Anne Tyler
-Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl (for being exactly what I needed the week I read it)
-Story of a Girl by Sara Zarr (I would like to be friends with Sara Zarr)

Some favorites I never got around to writing anything about:
-Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris (funny but not for everybody)
-My Summer of Southern Discomfort by Stephanie Gayle (I thoroughly enjoyed this fish out of water story)
-On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan (another masterful tale)
-Hard Row by Margaret Maron (excellent as always)
-The Abstinence Teacher by Tom Perrotta (hilarious and insightful)
-The Zookeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman (beautiful inspiring nonfiction)
-The City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau (I can’t stop recommending this book)

And, of course, I enjoyed all the J.K. Rowling and Alexander McCall Smith on that list. But you knew that already.

I’m not going to point out any of the ones I especially disliked, though there were some big disappointments of course. I will say that it seems like the year went out on a bit of a low note as far as my own reading was concerned - changing jobs meant changing some of my reading habits a little bit (no more desperately searching for a book for my book club, which I was constantly doing before), skewing it a bit younger. I have been trying to catch up on a lot of the Battle of the Books selections, but I hope to have more to say about some of the ones that I tackle next year, and over Christmas break I decided that I am going to have to make sure I read things that I am interested in, whether or not they are relevant to my job, just to keep me sane. So I should get back to more adult reading soon, and hopefully find a better balance.

Doing reviews this year was a grand experiment, and I don’t know how I feel about it in the end. I think I will try to write up more than I did at the end of this year, but I probably won’t do as many (percentage-wise) as I did this year overall.

And now, on to 2008, where more excellent books are waiting.

I don’t usually count picture books in my total, nor do I usually write them up, but I thought I’d make an exception for this one.

I read about this book on Cheryl Klein’s blog, where she talked about how the book came to be. I liked the way that she talked about the way that Jesus and faith were presented in the book, and, in the past, I have appreciated Katherine Paterson’s discussions about her own faith, so I went out and bought it just a couple days later. After working in a Christian bookstore, Mike and I are both very sensitive about the way that faith and Jesus are presented to children, and this one passed the test. The pictures are beautiful and beautifully illustrate the theme of Jesus as the light of the world. Difficult things are explained in ways that children can understand without talking down to children, which is not always an easy feat when it comes to scripture. My friends should be warned that they can probably expect to get this book for their own children in the future.

My full 2007 list will be posted later today - I have given up on the idea of finishing anything else today.

I was hesitant to start this book for a few reasons. First, Mike told me I should read it, and I don’t like to read books that I “should” read. Which is fairly ridiculous, because I tell Mike to read books all the time (speaking of that, Mike, if you are reading this, WHY ARE YOU READING THIS? STOP READING THIS. Go read The Kite Runner so we can see the movie).

Also, as I have mentioned before, I am prejudiced against books with lots of pictures. I know. It’s awful. I just read so fast, people. I want there to actually be something to the book. And this one did go pretty fast, though the pictures are great and are very integral to the story.

Anyway. The Invention of Hugo Cabret is a story told in pictures and text about a young boy who lost his parents and ended up living with his uncle in a Paris train station, taking care of the clocks. He has a knack for mechanics and spends a lot of time trying to repair a machine with notes left by his father, a machine he hopes can give him his father’s last final message. Repairing this machine leads him to interact with an old toymaker, who has secrets of his own.

Overall, I thought this book was very good. It’s long, but mostly pictures, so it is a very quick read. The story is relatively straightforward, which was a bit of a surprise - books that big usually have a few more twists and turns, and I hadn’t taken into account how much of the story would actually be told in pictures. The pictures are, as I said, great, and it would (like a graphic novel) be an excellent choice for reluctant readers. It’s for a slightly younger audience than you’d expect for the size, probably upper elementary. I am glad I read it, though I must confess that it’s not really my thing. I would definitely recommend it to kids, though, because it’s a great example of reading being fun and interesting.

What is this?!

Amazon.com NEVER actually recommends something I would like to purchase. Until now.

My dad would always change this “NOEL” to “EL NO,” so my mom set it up that way for him this year. Dwight approves.

For some reason, this one makes me laugh a lot. I think it’s the look on Dwight’s face (which makes no sense . . . he has the same look in all of his pictures because he is A PLASTIC BOBBLEHEAD) combined with the fact that he is slightly taller than Santa. Though he is much more fit.

I said, “You won’t be able to balance that on a bobblehead.” So then of course my brother had to.

(That I’m still a man in need of a savior.)

I happen to be a fairly capable person. I can do things and take care of things and figure things out. Sometimes I want to play the princess, to be rescued, but I am more likely to be in the midst of figuring out the solution. This means that it is hard sometimes for me to know exactly what it means to need Jesus to come and save me from my sin, to save me at all. I get it in an overarching sense, that I am a sinful person, but not always in an everyday life kind of sense. In my everyday life, I don’t often feel like I need to be saved.

Surely this is why we have big holiday gatherings at Christmas, to remind us exactly why we need to be saved. Such gatherings remind me that I do, in fact, desperately need Jesus to save me. In the midst of one such a gathering this year, I found that, despite my promises to be good, so good, unrecognizably good, that I could not, in fact, be good. I simply couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I had to stand up for what was true, stand up for someone who was being berated. While I think that standing up in those ways, for those things, is important, I could possibly have done this in a slightly less angry/more tactful way. And whether what I did was ultimately right or wrong, the cost of my decision was that all the peacefulness went out of the gathering.

I have eaten myself up with guilt about this, about the fact that, still, after years of trying, I can’t just keep my mouth shut for a few hours. I can’t. I don’t know how. I see injustices happening, and whether it’s the right time or place to address them, I lose my head a little bit and must speak out, speak up. I spent the last few days before Christmas staring this reality in the face: I cannot be good enough, no matter how hard I try. I cannot do the right thing out of my own power. I did everything right to prepare for this event: lots of sleep, food, caffeine. But I can’t depend on myself to be able to have the right responses all the time.

And so, with reluctance and relief, I admit that I am very much in need of a savior, someone who does have the power that I lack. Someone whose birth and life and death gives me courage that I can try again next year, depending on him rather than myself. In recent years, I have spent Christmases knowing that I needed help to make it through, help to make good decisions, help to deal with life. But I spent this Christmas right in the middle of the knowledge that I cannot be good enough to earn any of the things I have been blessed with, not my friends, not my family, not any hope for salvation. During Advent, I was excited as we anticipated the birth of Christ, the mystery of God made flesh. I spent Christmas with a little more understanding of why I really needed him to come here, to set me free from sin and death.

“And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins.”

Then I’m laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters aren’t bleeding me,
Leading me, going home.

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
“I am leaving, I am leaving”
But the fighter still remains -Paul Simon

Thank you, God, for being born,
You who first invented birth
(Universe, galaxies, the earth).
When your world was tired & worn
You came laughing on the morn.

Thank you, most amazing Word
For your silence in the womb
Where there was so little room
Yet the still small voice was heard
Throughout a planet dark & blurred.

Merry Christmas! Wondrous day!
Maker of the universe,
You the end, & you the source
Come to share in human clay
And, yourself, to show the Way. -Madeleine L’Engle

The inn was full. When Joseph knocked,
his wife was already in labour; there was no room
even for compassion. Until the barn was offered.
That was the precipitating factor. A child was born,
and the pattern changed forever, the cosmos
shaken with that silent explosion. -Madeleine L’Engle

—

It is happening now. It is happening in a stable in Bethlehem.

Over the stable, a star is twinkling. Inside the stable, the newborn child is wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger.

This is a meeting of heaven and earth. For the child in the manger is also a spark from the great beacon behind those weak lanterns in the sky.

This is the wonder. It is a wonder every time a new child comes into the world. This is how it is when the world is created anew under heaven.

A woman is breathing hard and weeping. Not out of sadness. Mary is weeping quietly, deeply, happily. But the child’s cries drown her out. The Christ Child is born. He has been born in a stable in Bethlehem. He has come to our poor world. -Jostein Gaarder, The Christmas Mystery

Here we are, on Christmas Eve, with Mary and Joseph as they search for a quiet corner to have their child, the one who was promised. As Mike and I usually do during Advent, we have read The Christmas Mystery and traveled back in time to Bethlehem, back to when the Christ Child was born. It is one of my favorite ways to prepare my heart, that journey.

Thank you for traveling with me on this more public journey as well. And now it is Christmas Eve, and we find that so many things have finally come together to bring about what we have been waiting for. We see the end of all that we have been talking about: angels, pregnancy, courage, taxes, stables, stars, shepherds, wise men. Everything converges in Bethlehem tonight as a child is born. May your celebration of this wondrous event bring you great joy.

O come, O come Emmanuel
within this fragile vessel here to dwell.
O Child conceived by heaven’s power
give me thy strength: it is the hour.

O come, thou Wisdom from on high;
like any babe at life you cry;
for me, like any mother, birth
was hard, O light of earth.

O come, O come, thou Lord of might,
whose birth came hastily at night,
born in a stable, in blood and pain
is this the king who comes to reign?

O come, thou Rod of Jesse’s stem,
the stars will be thy diadem.
How can the infinite finite be?
Why choose, child, to be born of me?

O come, thou key of David, come,
open the door to my heart-home.
I cannot love thee as a king–
so fragile and so small a thing.

O come, thou Day-spring from on high:
I saw the signs that marked the sky.
I heard the beat of angels’ wings
I saw the shepherds and the kings.

O come, Desire of nations, be
simply a human child to me.
Let me not weep that you are born.
The night is gone. Now gleams the morn.

Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel,
God’s Son, God’s Self, with us to dwell. -Madeleine L’Engle

While I roll my eyes a bit at people who absolutely refuse to listen to any Christmas music before Christmas Eve (or the 15th, I have heard people say, for whatever reason), I must admit that I love that, at church, we don’t sing anything but Advent songs until Christmas Eve. I am sure that some people roll their eyes at that, but I love the sense of anticipation that those songs give me each year. It gives me the chance to transition my heart from the Thanksgiving season into preparedness for Christmas, rather than jumping on into Christmas. This gratitude for the church calendar is nothing new for me to be saying, so I won’t bore you with that. But I like the chance to celebrate that anticipation, not just celebrating the event itself.

Last year, our church used “Here Comes the Sun” as our Advent theme. This makes us sound impossibly trendy, using a Beatles song, which, frankly, isn’t really true. And, if I’m honest with you, it’s the kind of thing I generally scoff at. A Beatles song? For Christmas? But both Mike and I found ourselves incredibly moved by the song by the end of the season, and it has found a permanent spot on our Christmas list, I think. The lyrics of that song are like Advent for me: out of the darkness comes a great light. Does it make you tingle down to your toes like it does for me? It’s been a long, cold lonely winter. Here, my friends, here comes the sun.

O come, O come Emmanuel.

Winter solstice, when the sun seems to stand still in heaven, watching for the Baby to be born. -Luci Shaw

—

“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. -Robert Frost

Of course I know that Christmas should probably be celebrated in the spring, and that it is only celebrated in late December because of pagan rituals. But is it okay for me to confess that I like it being just after “the darkest evening of the year?” Because I do. To have the hope of Christmas shining in such a dark time seems just right to me, and I am thankful that, every year, in the midst of the bleakness of winter (I live in the Northern Hemisphere, you see), we experience the darkness . . . and then the marvelous, miraculous light.

Last night at a Christmas festival, I heard a choir sing, in Latin, Gabrielli’s O Magnum Mysterium: “O greatest of mysteries and O most wonderful sacrament, Jesus lying there in the manger for all creatures to gaze upon. O blessed virgin, whose womb was deemed worthy of bearing Christ, the Lord Jesus. Alleluia!” An intense sweetness filled the space in that auditorium as voices deep, strong, high, clear, resonant, and reverent moved out from the stage and enfolded me. The harmony and the all-encompassing sense of the meaning of the words, which went beyond intellectual understanding, pierced me.

The Incarnation shows us simply, clearly, what would otherwise blind us–Jesus, Logos, metaphor of God, Word that both tells and shows, accessible yet mysterious, essence as well as sacrament, actuality and analogy both.

God and his truth are like a sun that fills the sky. His huge verities flare off from its center of certainty like the flaming tongues of a corona, overwhelming us in our insignificance. Yet he may appear to those whose eyes are open–the seers (Annie Dillard calls herself a stalker of truth, Virginia Stem Owens a spy)–in forms as unthreatening, yet true, as a baby, or a seed, or a dove, or a lamb, or a loaf of bread. Or a flick of rainbow color on the wall. -Luci Shaw

That’s one of the things I like about this time of the year: My eyes seem more open to God and his truth. Look, there he is in that little boy, dressed in a bathrobe, playing a shepherd in the Christmas Play. Look, there he is in a woman who serves the church and the poor every month by preparing dinner for the homeless shelter. Here he is in some kind words written in a Christmas card. Here he is in the miracle of rain in the midst of a drought. I see him in the candlelight service on Christmas Eve, in the in the faces of those I love as we gather to celebrate the holiday, in a clear starry night. What a mystery, that the God we serve is accessible and can be seen, if only we have the eyes to look for him. O greatest of mysteries, that instead of overwhelming us with our own insignificance, he would make himself nothing that we might see his truth and follow it out of the darkness into God’s own marvelous light.

I salute you! There is nothing I can give you
which you have not;
but there is much, that while I cannot give,
you can take.
No heaven can come to us
unless our hearts find rest in it today.
Take Heaven.

No peace lies in the future
which is not hidden in this present instant.
Take Peace.

The gloom of the world
is but a shadow,
behind it, yet, within our reach,
is joy.
Take Joy.

And so, at this Christmas time,
I greet you,
with the prayer that for you,
now and forever, the day breaks
and the shadows flee away. -Fra Giovanni

My Favorite English Professor read this tonight at book club.

I know not all of that which I contain.
I’m small; I’m young; I fear the pain.
All is surprise: I am to be a mother.
That Holy Thing within me and no other
is Heaven’s King whose lovely Love will reign.
My pain, his gaining my eternal gain
my fragile body holds Creation’s Light;
its smallness shelters God’s unbounded might.
The angel came and gave, did not explain.
I know not all of that which I contain.

I have felt for a while like Mike and I were living in transition, if only because we’d been pondering the idea of me switching jobs. Not to mention that the end of his college career is rapidly approaching, which will move us out of this comfortable existence into something new and unknown. Since switching jobs, though, I do feel more settled, like I have an idea of what our lives might look like for the next few years. After that, who knows? I am tired of trying to make plans.

The new job has made me think a lot about myself, my strengths and weaknesses, how I come across, how I can rise to meet a challenge. I have surprised myself. I am a stronger person than I sometimes realize. So, while I am not carrying the Son of God, I agree with Young Mary that I don’t know all that I contain, either. I know more than I used to, but I am still learning all the ways that I am gifted, that I am strong.

Praise be to God, who gives us these gifts, even things we don’t yet understand about ourselves. Who walks with us in our struggles, who does not forsake us. And who, despite the fragility of our bodies, chose to live among us, and now chooses to live in our hearts.

Very different from the simple shepherds were the wise men who came from three different parts of the globe, a long journey that must have taken them well over a year. They were serious scholars who studied the heavens and the movement of the heavenly bodies. They were both astronomers and astrologers, and we have not seen their like since astronomy and astrology were separated many centuries ago.

The wise men were wise men indeed, men of great intellectual sophistication; but each one saw the birth of an unknown child as an event of unprecedented proportions, and each one left home to make the long trip to Judea because of what he had read in the movement of the planets and the stars. They understood the birth of a single child could affect the entire universe, just as physicists today understand that all of creation is a single organism. Nothing happens in isolation. The crying of a baby sends sound waves to galaxies thousands of light years away.

So these ancient astronomers believed that something was happening in Bethlehem that would change the world . . . The wonder of the Incarnation can only be accepted with awe. Jesus was wholly human, and Jesus was wholly divine. This is something that has baffled philosophers and theologians for two thousand years. Like love, it cannot be explained, it can only be rejoiced in. Did the wise men understand this Glorious Impossible? Perhaps they came close. They left gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh; and being warned in a dream not to go back to Herod, they returned to their homes by another way. -Madeleine L’Engle

I have stayed away from poems and passages about the Magi because, really, that’s supposed to come after Christmas. But I found this one so moving, I had to include it. My apologies to those of you who think I should have waited until Epiphany. I just love the sentence, “[T]hese ancient astronomers believed that something was happening in Bethlehem that would change the world.” How did they respond? They traveled on a long journey to find out what was happening.

I also believe that something happened in Bethlehem that changed the world. I even have the benefit of knowing how the story ends. (Well, not the very end of the story, but at least the end of the chapter of Jesus’ life on earth.) I believe that the birth of that child did affect the whole universe, that it was an event of unprecedented proportions, that it was an act of love that cannot be explained or completely understood. It is a cliche at this point, to say that, after encountering Jesus, we are unable to go back the way that we came. But if I were to travel this world as those wise men made their journey–with a purpose, with faith–how would the people around me be affected?

And how can I possibly live as if the birth and life and death of Jesus hasn’t made a difference when it was an act of love that changed the course of this world? The creator of all the universe entered this world as a helpless baby. What gifts have I to offer him?

What’s that? You would like to hear things from me other than Advent thoughts? You are sick of the Advent thoughts? You mean they’re just like my book reviews that no one reads? What do you people want from me? I can’t be funny all the time. (Well, I mean, I can, but you’re so fickle you’d probably get tired of that, too, WOULDN’T YOU?)

Here are some little snapshots of my life these days.

1. I made eight bazillion cookies for Christmas. (That is an exaggeration. I probably made about . . . I don’t know. Seven hundred?) I think I might hate cookies. (That is not an exaggeration. I am really sick of cookies.) If you give me cookies, I am CROSSING YOU OFF MY FRIENDSHIP LIST. There is a picture of our table covered in cookies (and pie, don’t forget the pie), but Mike hasn’t uploaded it yet.

1b. I really need a laptop so I can do that sort of thing on my own.

1c. But it sure is nice to be able to blame things on Mike.

2. I worked at the basketball game at my school on Monday. I was the ticket collector. I sat next to the principal, and we had the following conversation.

KARI: So, do you like basketball?

PRINCIPAL: Yes. How about you?

KARI: It’s my favorite sport. I love it.

PRINCIPAL: I like to watch Duke play.

KARI: I’m a Carolina fan.

PRINCIPAL: Oh. *makes face*

KARI THINKS: This is awkward.

AWKWARD SILENCE ENSUES.

Do you see that, people? I am probably going to get fired now. At least it will be for a worthy cause. Some people stand up for their faith at work, but I stand up for my basketball team.

3. Well, this is awkward. I don’t know how to tell you guys this. I’ve been reading . . . vampire romance novels. I KNOW. I KNOW. See, I was trying to figure out if my school should have those Stephenie Meyer books, so I thought I should read the first one. And oh, my heavens, it was so overwrought. So dramatic. So much passion. It actually made me uncomfortable, all that drama and passion. I like to keep my emotions at more of a distance. I was like, “Hey, everybody, calm down with the drama!” But the characters, they did not listen to me. Anyway, it was a little much for me, but it was still kind of fun. So now I am reading the second one. Stop judging me. It’s RESEARCH. For WORK. Also, it makes me giggle. OH MY GOSH, THERE ARE VAMPIRES. AND FORBIDDEN LOVE. AND MAYBE WEREWOLVES (but that part is just a guess because there haven’t been any actual werewolves yet. I just think that maybe there are going to be some). AND EVERYONE IS TALKING LIKE THIS BECAUSE THEY HAVE SO MUCH PASSION. In other words, they are totally appropriate for middle school, and I ordered several copies already.

3b. Seriously, though, I never thought I would enjoy a vampire romance novel quite this much.

3c. Please forget I ever said that.

3d. I have read other things. I swear.

4. Two words: Holiday. Sweaters.

4b. You just . . . wouldn’t believe . . .

4c. . . . there are no words.

4d. . . . you’re just going to have to imagine it yourself.

5. I have other things going on, but our main character is about to be attacked by a bad vampire, so I really need to get back to my vampire romance novel. Sorry.

And the angel told her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High shall overshadow you. And the Holy Thing which shall be born of you shall be called the Son of God.”

What an amazing, what an impossible message the angel brought to a young girl! But Mary looked at the angel and said, “Be it unto me according to your word.”

And so the life of Jesus began as it would end, with the impossible. When he was a grown man he would say to his disciples, “For human beings it is impossible. For God nothing is impossible.”

Possible things are easy to believe. The Glorious Impossibles are what bring joy to our hearts, hope to our lives, songs to our lips. -Madeleine L’Engle

This week I have been busy, and being busy is hard on me. I have had a lot of meetings and church and baking and stuff going on lately, but it is encouraging to me that I have been handling it better than I sometimes do. I think the new job gives me enough space that I feel like I get time to myself in the afternoons, even when I am busy. Let’s hope I still feel that way next semester, when I am taking two classes on top of working. I can get stressed/overwhelmed pretty easily, and I get worked up about things, sometimes beyond what it seems like I can control (though I will admit that it has been much better in the past few years). And then they calm down, and everything seems fine. I was thinking about all of that today as I read this passage. It seems impossible to believe that I will ever be able to handle stress and my emotions in a more productive way. But, as Madeleine L’Engle points out, for God nothing is impossible.

Even more than that, I believe (Lord, help my unbelief) in so many Gloriously Impossible things. I take them on faith. What is a small thing like controlling my emotions to a God who walked this earth because he loves us? And so I continue to trust that these patterns will one day be broken. This, for me, is a tangible reason that Christmas is a time of hope: I can hope because there are real challenges (though certainly they are less perilous than those faced by many people in the world, that doesn’t make them less real to me) that I want to overcome, and though they seem impossible, the baby in the manger reminds me that the God who came to live as one of us can overcome any obstacles, no matter how impossible they look from my perspective.

Cribb’d, cabined, and confined within the contours of a human infant. The infinite defined by the finite? The Creator of all life thirsty and abandoned? Why would he do such a thing? Aren’t there easier and better ways for God to redeem his fallen creatures?

And what good did it all do? The heart of man is still evil. Wars grow more terrible with each generation. The earth daily becomes more depleted by human greed. God came to save us and we thank him by producing bigger and better battlefields and slums and insane asylums.

And yet Christmas is still for me a time of hope, of hope for the courage to love and accept love, a time when I can forget that my Christology is extremely shaky and can rejoice in God’s love through love of family and friends. -Madeleine L’Engle

I think that I often blow right on past the idea of the creator entering his creation. Partly because it’s so hard to comprehend - how can God, so infinite, be contained by a human body? Why was this the way he chose to reconcile us to himself?

I must apologize for this next thought, but bear with me as I explain it. If I (or someone much more tech savvy than I) created a video game, and then somehow entered it and accepted its limitations, that would sound like a movie, right? (Is there a movie like that? Is The Matrix something like that? I have still not seen The Matrix.) So the idea of God accepting human limitations is something that’s hard for me to understand as real and true. I know that I pay lip service to the idea, but I try not to think about it too much, because it’s just so hard to wrap my mind around.

The news is always filled with terrible things: war and famine and recession and debt. But the idea that we are loved by someone so much that he would give up the infinite to accept the limitations of this life . . . that is a powerful thought. It not only gives me hope, it also gives me courage to think that I can affect change. By taking care of the earth, by showing love to a child, by opening my heart to those around me. It says in Corinthians that Christ’s love compels us because he died for all of us, and it’s also true that it compels us because of how he lived, and even by the fact that he came to live among us at all. If he can do such an amazing, incomprehensible thing, well, just think what I could do with his power at work in me.

Obedience is an unpopular word nowadays, but the artist must be obedient to the work, whether it be a symphony, a painting, or a story for a small child. I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of great genius, or something very small, comes to the artist and says, “Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.” And the artist either says, “My soul doth magnify the Lord,” and willingly becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses; but the obedient response is not necessarily a conscious one, and not everyone has the humble, courageous obedience of Mary. -Madeleine L’Engle

On the second Sunday of Advent, a missionary who has been visiting our church preached a bit on creativity. He claimed not to be a very creative person artistically, but he put forth the idea that using your gifts to serve God was being creative enough. This was actually an idea I’d been pondering for a while, since I don’t consider myself very creative, either. I have been wondering if some of the ways that we talk about art can’t also apply to, say, spreadsheets and charts. Book reviews. Fixing broken computers. These are areas where I am much more comfortable (I’m not saying I can fix REALLY broken computers, but I am okay at troubleshooting. Just for the record), but they aren’t things that people are going to hang on their wall or strum their guitars along with. And, in general, I feel pretty sad/insecure about my lack of creativity, because I feel like I am surrounded by incredibly talented people, but that my own brain is kind of broken when it comes to creativity. Also, they are taller than I am.

But I think that what Madeleine L’Engle is saying here actually does apply to left-brained things like charts and spreadsheets. If those are my gifts, if I can make a mean PowerPoint presentation or write a good book review, then I should obediently bear that to completion. Knowing your strengths and playing to them, doing those things well, and being open to challenges in your own life . . . I think that takes the same humility and courage that Mary had. Of course it doesn’t take me as much courage to set up a computer as it took Mary to bear the Son of God, but doing my best in the areas where I am gifted and in those where I am challenged does take that same kind of obedience.

So whether serving my gifts leads me to a symphony or an excellent lesson plan, Mary can still be an inspiration, teaching us about obedience both artistic and practical. Her obedience changed the world as we know it, but if I use my mind and my gifts to turn someone’s day around, then I have done what was required, which is (or should be) incarnational enough for me.

It was from Joseph first I learned
of love. Like me he was dismayed.
How easily he could have turned
me from his house; but, unafraid,
he put me not away from him
(O God-sent angel, pray for him).
Thus through his love was Love obeyed.
The Child’s first cry came like a bell:
God’s Word aloud, God’s Word in deed.
The angel spoke: so it befell,
and Joseph with me in my need.
O Child whose father came from heaven,
to you another gift was given,
your earthly father chosen well.

With Joseph I was always warmed
and cherished. Even in the stable
I knew that I would not be harmed.
And, though above the angels swarmed,
man’s love it was that made me able
to bear God’s love, wild, formidable,
to bear God’s will, through me performed. -Madeleine L’Engle

I wish we knew more about Joseph. I always find him so interesting. Years ago, I read a novel by Elizabeth George called Missing Joseph, which doesn’t have anything to do with Christmas or this post, really, except that one of the things the book talks about is that Joseph is often missing from the Christmas pictures. Mary takes center stage with Jesus. That was probably the first thing that sparked my interest in him, back in middle school. I don’t remember what else that had to do with the plot of the story, though.

A few days ago, I wrote about how Mary and Joseph must have been not only amazing individuals but also an amazing couple together for them to have been given such great responsibility. I thought about that when reading this poem, too, but on a more personal level. I have a very loving family, but at the same time, I have learned so much about love by being married to Mike. I tend to think that Jesus’ earthly father was a little bit like Mike - quiet, determined, brave.

The poem theorizes that Joseph’s love and compassion made it easier to bear the things that happened to Mary, and I believe that was probably true, if only because we as humans were created that way, to need the people around us. God placed a community around Mary that helped her be brave enough to say yes to the angel, bear the controversy of her pregnancy, give birth in a stable, face the things that happened later on in Jesus’ life and his ministry. Though different things are required of me, God has also gifted me with people who help me face the things that happen in this life, both wonderful and terrible. And I am glad that Mike, with his compassion and humor, his quiet determination, his patience, is with me as we try to listen and obey the wild, strange love of God together.

He came, quietly impossible,
Out of a young girl’s womb,
A love as amazingly marvelous
As his bursting from the tomb.

The child was fully human,
This child was wholly God.
The hands of All Love fashioned him
Of mortal flesh and bone and blood,

The ordinary so extraordinary
The stars shook in the sky
As the Lord of all the universe
Was born to live, to love, to die.

He came, quietly impossible:
Nothing will ever be the same:
Jesus, the Light of every heart–
The God we know by name. -Madeleine L’Engle

This reminds me a bit of “O Little Town of Bethlehem”: all these amazing things were happening quietly, without most of the world noticing. Sure, there were some shepherds who heard about it, and, yes, some kings came from the east, but mostly life just went on as usual.

These days, in this country, celebrating Christmas is the usual thing. But the big displays at the mall, the lines to see Santa, the stress that so many people feel–those are actually pretty far removed from the quietly impossible way that Jesus entered the world, lived among us, and then died. It’s our responsibility (all year, but especially at Christmas) to take the time to make the idea that “nothing will ever be the same” a reality in our own lives.

This birth has death forevermore confused.
That God, the holy & immortal one
Should take on mortal flesh, should be abused,
Be killed–oh, how could such a thing be done?
What does this death then do to death?
Death grasps the holy body of the Lord,
Crushes the mortal flesh, lets side be gored–
Oh, God! has death not triumphed over life?
Why did you come to share our joy & pain?
Our feeble times of peace, our constant strife?
What did you think your fragile folk might gain?
I do not know the answer, Lord, but you,
Embracing death, made life forever new. -Madeleine L’Engle

The first week of Advent, our church had a service of grief and remembrance, just as a time to acknowledge that the holidays can be difficult. I was nervous about going, but it was nice to sit in the darkened chapel and let myself think about the things that are hard to remember this time of year. As they read the names, I looked around and realized there was so much loss, just in this room, just in the past year or so. It was a sobering thought, but also an encouraging one, that I am not alone in my struggles. It’s easy to get caught up in my own loss and forget that the holidays are hard for a lot of people.

There was some Scripture read, and one of the passages was from 1 Thessalonians: “Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.” As the reader said the last part, “We believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him,” there was an audible sigh in the room, as if everyone there was simultaneously taking comfort in that thought. That was the best moment of the night for me, as we all breathed in the truth of that hope together.

Before I went to the service, I was undecided about whether it was weird or inappropriate, just because maybe that’s not how we should be celebrating Advent. But it was one of the things I think will stand out from this year’s Christmas season–as we wait for Christmas, as we wait with the rest of the church for Christ’s return, we also wait to see our loved ones again. And because of Christmas, we wait with the hope that Jesus brings, knowing that he triumphed over death and shared that triumph with us.

As I grow older
I get surer
Man’s heart is colder,
His life no purer.
As I grow steadily
More austere
I come less readily
To Christmas each year.
I can’t keep taking
Without a thought
Forced merrymaking
And presents bought
In crowds jostling.
Alas, there’s naught
In empty wassailing
Where oblivion’s sought.
Oh, I’d be waiting
With quiet fasting
Anticipating
A joy more lasting.
And so I rhyme
With no apology
During this time
of eschatology:
Judgment and warning
Come like thunder.
But now is the hour
When I remember
An infant’s power
On a cold December.
Midnight is dawning
And the birth of wonder. -Madeleine L’Engle

Soooooo, remember how yesterday I said I want to keep on buying presents? Well, I do. I really do. It’s like, it was radical enough to stop buying presents for Mike, even though we did it to be responsible financially, and even though I love it now. But that makes me counter-cultural enough, you know? I don’t want to say that I don’t give presents at all. It’s already a dead weight in the room when someone says, “What did Mike give you for Christmas?” or, “What are you getting Mike for Christmas?” and I have to say, “We don’t exchange presents.” It’s what I imagine being a vegetarian is like. It’s how people respond to Mike when he goes on and on about sea turtles and conservation. “Oh, you’re one of those.” Sometimes I kind of want to be one of those. But it’s a hard step to take.

It is a well-documented fact that I don’t love shopping. But I don’t know if I could give up presents altogether, because I think I would feel a little bit guilty about not giving presents to OTHER people. (This is because I do like presents myself, much more than I like shopping.) But, for the most part, buying presents doesn’t make me feel the same way that many of our other traditions do. It doesn’t fill me with joy as much as luminaries in the park, or seeing A Beautiful Star, or decorating our tree, or listening to our favorite Christmas music, or reading our Advent book . . . I feel peaceful doing those things. Buying presents doesn’t make me feel peaceful.

So, honestly, I will admit that I don’t know what I want to do. I do like giving presents to the people who are important to me. I just don’t like the way that shopping and consumerism make me feel. I guess I need to continue to think it over, to think about the most meaningful ways to celebrate the holiday, because when I read something like this, all I can think is that “wonder” is very very far away from what I see at the mall.

So we rejoice in the mystery of this tiny baby. We give presents to each other as reminders of his great gift of himself to us. We trim the Christmas tree, although the Christmas tree was not originally a Christian symbol, but came out of northern Europe and the worship of different gods. But any affirmation of love and beauty can become Christian, because Christianity is totally committed to incarnation. The decorated tree may have secular origins, but if we truly believe in incarnation, then everything secular can also be sacred. So we trim our trees and make them sparkle with light as a symbol that light is stronger than darkness, and even in a world as dark as ours, the light still shines, and cannot be extinguished.

This is no time for a child to be born,
With the Earth betrayed by war and hate
And a comet slashing the sky to warn
That time runs out and the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born
In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;
Honor and truth were trampled by scorn–
Yet here did the Saviour make his home.

When is the time for love to be born?
The inn is full on planet earth,
And by a comet the sky is torn–
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth. -Madeleine L’Engle

I love our Christmas tree, though I have to admit that it felt a little early to be putting it up this year. We put it up the day after Thanksgiving, as we always do, because that is the day that we can put it up, a day that we have off. We make ourselves a Thanksgiving dinner, and we decorate the house.

I also love the idea of a Christmas tree as a symbol of light, though I can’t say that I feel that way about mine all the time. It’s important to me, and I love our ornaments and our angel, our traditions. Our Christmas tree represents family to me, and maybe that’s enough.

Mike and I have had some conversations about Christmas presents lately, because we feel pretty content these days with our whole “not exchanging presents” thing, as it gives us time and money to do things like go to plays and walk among the luminaries at the park and spend quiet nights listening to Christmas music. We wonder (in a theoretical way) what we should do when we have a family. Every year Mike is more committed to the idea of not exchanging presents at all, of rejecting the consumerism that says that we have to spend a certain amount of money at the holidays. I like the idea of making birthdays our big present-opening celebration and keeping Christmas separate from the world’s idea of celebration, but I don’t think we have to eschew presents entirely in order to make that happen. I think that presents can be part of that celebration, part of affirming love and beauty, part of affirming love and light in our troubled world.

I don’t want presents to be something crossed off a list or purchased out of obligation, but I do take great joy in buying presents and baking cookies for those around me. I want to do so as long as those things continue to point me to Christ.

This time of the year
the new-born child
is everywhere
planted in madonnas’ arms
hay mows, stables,
in palaces or farms,
or quaintly, under snowed gables,
gothic angular or baroque plump,
naked or elaborately swathed,
encircled by Della Robbia wreaths,
garnished with whimsical
partridges and pears,
drummers and drums,
lit by oversize stars,
partnered with lambs,
peace doves, sugar plums,
bells, plastic camels in sets of three
as if these were what we needed
for eternity.

But Jesus the Man is not to be seen.
There are some who are wary, these days,
of beards and sandalled feet.

Yet if we celebrate, let it be
that He
has invaded our lives with purpose,
striding over our picturesque traditiosn,
our shallow sentiment,
overturning our cash registers,
wielding His peace like a sword,
rescuing us into reality,
demanding much more
than the milk and the softness
and the mother warmth
of the baby in the storefront creche,
(only the Man would ask
all, of each of us)
reaching out
always, urgently, with strong
effective love
(only the man would give
His life and live
again for love of us).

Oh come, let us adore Him–
Christ–the Lord. -Luci Shaw

I used to know someone who always read the Passion in the week or so before Christmas. While that is not one of my traditions, I do understand the sentiment, the idea that it’s important to know where the story is going to be able to keep the story of Jesus’ birth in perspective. (Look, here is Biblical support for my tendency to read the end of the story before I have actually gotten that far!) I actually find it more helpful to think about the Christmas story at Easter, especially on Good Friday. The Christmas story, with all its unexpected hope and promise, how did it come to this? But it’s important, too, to keep the crucifixion in mind as we wait during Advent. We have to have the whole story to be able to truly grasp the enormity of what was happening. God, sent to earth as a baby, well, that’s powerful enough, but God, sent to earth as a baby who grew to be a man who died for our sins . . . that is a story that, as the poem says, strides over our shallow sentiments and rescues us into reality.

On the eighth day after Jesus’ birth a prophecy laced with further torment was spoken to Mary: “A sword will pierce your own soul”–a pain for her to ponder and dread for over thirty years. During that waiting time, Jesus directed some of his hardest sayings to his gentle mother–words that must have wounded. But the culmination of all her anguish was at the cross, under its very arm, as she watched her beloved son die a slow and brutal death.

But hers was not the kind of dead-end pain that has no meaning. She was privileged to be caught up in the life of the One who fought the fierce battle between light and darkness. We can understand that mix of pain and joy only as we carry Christ in our hearts, birthing him into a hostile world. That may mean suffering; we may be as misunderstood as Mary. But there is a reward: Because eternity was closeted in time, he is our open door to forever. -Luci Shaw

“The One who fought the fierce battle between light and darkness.”

When I read this passage, that particular line jumped out at me. I’ve been thinking about why, at this time of year, I crave fairy tales more than anything else. I don’t think I’m alone, either: think about the blockbuster Christmas movies of the past few years. The Lord of the Rings; Harry Potter; The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe; and, this year, The (controversial) Golden Compass. Mike and I read The Christmas Mystery, our Advent book about traveling back in time to the moment when Christ was born. I am drawn to fantastic tales like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (or anything from the series listed above) in November and December. I want to see good triumph over evil.

Many of those stories are, of course, just an echo of the one true story of good battling evil, but they carry those sparks of truth in them. Fairy tales are one way of bringing the light of truth into the darkness of this world, and I am thankful for authors who take that responsibility seriously as they write about the big questions of good and evil.

I think that the passage I quoted is much more deep than what I have pulled out of it, but I also think that stories are one of the ways that we can understand the truth about Jesus and the mystery of Incarnation. And so, in their own way, stories that are about the truth of that battle, whether they are explicitly about Jesus or not, point us to that open door that Jesus brings.

I hung out with Richard Petty!

He’s the KING OF NASCAR, Y’ALL. I just thought you should know.

Brooklyn Bridge Park.

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He died with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came
to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice! -Madeleine L’Engle

I chose to use this poem because I loved the lines, “In the mystery of the Word made Flesh / the Maker of the stars was born.” I love the idea of the creator entering his own creation, and I think I found another passage or two that talks about that more fully (but don’t hold me to this . . . I could be losing my mind). So I may have more to say about that later.

As I was typing the poem out, I thought about a few things. Just as he didn’t wait until the world had everything together (which wouldn’t have been possible without him) to become one of us and walk among us, we don’t have to get all our stuff together to be able to approach Jesus. And, in fact, as the poem says, he came to share our grief and pain. It’s something he understands, all that pain in our lives, whether because of our own sin or someone else’s (or some combination thereof).

On the first Sunday of Advent, our preacher talked about how Advent, this time of waiting for Christmas, also mirrors our current state: waiting for Christ’s return. How “waiting” doesn’t have to mean inaction, but, instead, should spur us to action.

The purpose of Advent is to get you to experience that, to see what it is like “to wait in lonely exile here until the Son of God appear.” There is a reason for that. If you can experience what it was like for Israel to wait for the Messiah, then perhaps you will see that that is what you are doing now. Advent is not only the remembrance of a time back then, but a description of human life now. To the extent that our life is a time of waiting, this, too, is Advent . . . In Advent we look honestly at the distance between what is promised and what has actually happened, what ought to be and what really is. The church’s answer to the hard questions of Advent is, “Christ has come and Christ will come again.” In the meantime we, like Israel, must wait.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here Until the son of God appear.

We’re not just role playing when we sing that. We’re not just pretendi