Questions for the New Year

I really do love New Year's Resolutions.

There's something about the act of thumb-tacking up a new calendar that symbolizes possibilities. I can't resist reflecting a bit on the year before and setting goals for the next. After all, those blank squares need to be filled with meaning. And to discover their meaning, I need to set aside some time to ponder, reflect, write in my journal the answers to thoughtful questions.

One article I found provided a list of questions to use for this kind of exercise. The author focused first on overtly spiritual questions, like "What single thing that you plan to do this year will matter most in ten years? In eternity?" He then added to the list 21 questions that touched on other areas of life, like "What habit would you most like to establish this year?" and "What one thing do you most regret about last year, and what will you do about it this year?" I'm going to print out his list and pull out some questions to consider.

There's something powerful about the pause I take between Christmas and New Year's to go through exercises like these. I refocus my life on what really matters. If I can come up with a vision, purpose and plan for the upcoming year, then all the rushing, driving, shopping and planning that tends to take over a given day should be justified by a broader, bolder plan, infused with meaning by my great and glorious goals and dreams.

Well, my life isn't that grandiose.

But I do like to find a little direction. Otherwise, it feels like I'm chasing after the wind.

And I don't want to end up like Solomon, moaning that everything's meaningless.

So if you'll excuse me, I've got thinking to do.

Who knows, maybe I'll unearth some great and glorious goals? If not, I'm perfectly happy with a little nudge in the right direction.

What's Your Favorite Commandment? What's Billy's? And Woody's?

Many thanks to my friend Garry (sorry, that's the quickest link I could find for him--that guy fiddling with his name tag is not exactly fully engaged in Garry's presentation, is he? And the two ladies in the foreground appear to be text-messaging someone...anyway, I digress...) for pointing me to a blog that posted these two videos:

Woody Allen interviews Billy Graham (in the late '60s) pt. 1

Woody Allen interviews Billy Graham pt. 2

Other than the shock of seeing such a young Billy is in these clips, what do you think?

Who Put the "Feet" in "Happy Feet"?

An article in The New York Times about "Happy Feet" argued that Savion Glover, the tap dancer who provided the movement for Mumble, didn't receive appropriate credit for what he provided. The famous actors who provided voices are heralded as the film's stars: Elijah Wood, Nicole Kidman, Robin Williams and so on.

But Savion Glover, the Times writer John Rockwell claims, is a true star of this film. He provides the dance moves, the motion, the tapping, the literal happy feet, for crying out loud; yet, according to Rockwell, his name is buried in the credits that roll past at the end.

Rockwell wrote, "Ms. Kaufman [of the Washington Post] continued that Mr. Glover felt Mr. Miller [Director of "Happy Feet"] had done a noble deed, reminding the world of the glory of tap, and that 'Happy Feet' would inspire 'a resurgence in the dance, to really help us maintain our presence.'

"Maybe," Rockwell concedes, "But what about Mr. Glover’s presence, and his role as tap’s personification?

"As the film’s endless credits crawl past, one finds Mr. Glover listed way down the line, as Mumble’s dancer and choreographer."

Now, I haven't even seen "Happy Feet" yet, so I can't say anything about the film itself. But I want to do my part in promoting amazing talent and giving credit where credit is due. Besides, I love clips and shows that take you behind the scenes to let you peek at how movie magic is made.

Here's the "making of" Happy Feet clip on YouTube that shows Savion Glover tapping in a motion suit. Glover, Kelley Abbey (choreographer) and George Miller (director) explain the process of capturing Glover's moves to give motion to Mumble.

A trailer from the film takes up a minute or so at the beginning, so you can slide over to about 1:12 to hear them talking about the dancing (intermingled with clips from the film). I was especially intrigued when the camera panned back to show Glover dancing on the set and in the same shot you can see the monitor that was showing the computerized Mumble matching the movements in animation. Pretty amazing what they can do.

I don't mean to diminish the voicework of the actors who got top billing.

I just want Savion Glover to get credit for his role in this film. It is, after all, called Happy Feet. It's Glover's moves that are sending families out of the theaters groovin' and tapping away down cineplex hallways all the way to the parking lot.

The Conclusion of "The Sound of Music" (and a brief report on my back)

My back is better!

I can't believe how fast, too. In the past, weeks passed before I could stand upright or sit for any period of time without vertebrae packing down on top of each other like layers of sediment. The change is dramatic. This time it was a little over a week. I'm still aware of it, a twinge here and there when I bend a certain way, but overall, I'm among the ambulatory once more.

Also, we finished watching "The Sound of Music" last night. The most noteworthy moment was when the Nazis finally did show up. Tension was mounting on the small couch in our living room. The Boy was bouncing on the edge of the cushion, bouncing and staring, his hands flying up to his mouth now and then. "What's going to happen? Are they going to take the Papa?"

"You'll have to watch."

He shuddered and gasped during the graveyard scene.

Then, when the caretakers' car zoomed away, the nuns confessed their sin to Mother Superior and pulled out those car parts from their roomy sleeves, and the Nazis' cars wouldn't start, The Boy finally flopped back against the couch and relaxed. "Whew!" he exclaimed, "That was a close call!"

This evening he sang what he could remember from "Favorite Things."

"When the dog bites,
when the bee stings, (he left out the third phrase)
I simply remember
my favoritetest things,
and then I don't feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel

that."

The girls looked at each other and me with puzzled faces. I shrugged. "Close," I said.

"'That'?" one repeated.

"At least he was pretty much on key," another noted.

This afternoon, The Boy met me on the stairs and said, "The Nazis didn't come until after Maria got married."

I nodded.

"Before she was married they put that thing in her hair and the nuns closed the gate and I think one of them was so happy she almost cried. She looked so beautiful. I love that movie. It's one of my favorite movies of all time."

Old Movies through the Eyes of a Child

The Boy has never seen "The Sound of Music," so a few weeks ago I told him the basic storyline while we listened to the CD. I tried to explain the nuns and Nazis, the nanny and the Captain. I told him there were a few kind of scary parts, when the Nazis try to take the Captain away. He loved the music, so I wanted to share with him the movie. We just had to wait for a more leisurely time to launch it. It's something like three hours long, isn't it?

Well, we realized we were kind of leisurely this evening, so we launched it. We watched it clear up to the last of the Do-Re-Mi'ing through Salzburg, just before the Captain drives past the children as they hang from tree branches in their drapery play clothes.

During the intro, when you hear the wind whooshing through the mountains while enjoying scenic aerial shots of Austria, The Boy gasped, "Is it real?"

"Yes," I said. "Those are mountains in Austria."

"They're real?"

"Yes! Did you think it was going to be a cartoon?"

He nodded. "But it's real!"

We watched for a few moments. He gasped and ducked. "Let's fast-forward through this part!"

"It's not scary, honey. It's just showing the pretty places--the mountains and look at that pretty lake."

He relaxed a little. The music began softly, easing in, and he commented, "There sure are a lot of pretty places in Austri--Australia--Austria."

Then the camera moved in on Maria on the hillside and he ducked again, "I don't want to watch!"

"It's not scary!"

"What's she doing?"

"Walking. And singing."

"Are they going to get her?"

"She's just on a hillside."

"When are the bad nuns coming?"

"Nuns aren't bad. They're all good. They love God and pray and help people."

"There's no bad ones?"

"Nope. It's the Nazi army that's bad."

"What's she doing?"

"Singing."

One of the sisters grumbled, "Just watch the movie.""

Maria hops onto some stones in a creek. The Boy asked, "Is anyone going to see her?"

"No," I answered. "She's alone."

"Is anyone going to get her?"

"No. She's just out there singing and praying."

Clearly there is not as much suspense in this film as most of the Disney or Pixar films he's seen, and this is puzzling. He's expecting it. Where's the danger? When will the bad guys show up? Oh, not for another hour, hour-and-a-half. And no one gets grabbed or nabbed or locked up. There's just Lisl's gasp when Ralph shines a flashlight on the tombstones and blows the whistle on them.

Just to be sure he can completely let down his guard, he repeats a question. "Is anyone going to see her?"

"No." I answer simply. "Just God."

No thugs. No bad nuns. No Nazis...yet. He accepts this. Finally.

Later, during a musical interval in "Favorite Things," he said, "'When-the-dog-bites!' The instruments said 'when the dog bites' to her so she could answer back."

Later still, during the picnic on the hillside, he was impressed when one of the girls tossed an apple core as "Do-Re-Mi" began. "She can really throw hard! And it was a girl! I saw her! That apple core went whooosh right over Maria's head! While she was singing!"

Later still, when they were dancing up the stairs during the long "Do-Re-Mi" sequence, he said, "She sure is taking good care of seven kids. At first she didn't think it would be easy, but she's good at it."

I'd say he's fully engaged.

His sisters didn't really want to watch it. They got out books to read and turned sideways, not even bothering to face the TV. Soon after "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?", however, the books were set aside as they shifted in their seats or moved to the couch.

They couldn't resist.

I love that movie.

And when it's done, I'm going to watch "It's a Wonderful Life." I hope they love the pool scene. And Clarence. And Uncle Billy tumbling into the trash cans. And the end, the bell, and the little girl's voice, "Every time a bell rings...."

I love watching these old movies with people who haven't seen them 39 times. The surprises are surprising; the familiar, memorized lines are fresh; eyes are wide, and they really don't know what's coming next.

One of the thousand-and-one wonderful things about parenting:

You get to watch through the eyes of a child.

Contemplative Christmas? Or not?

How would you describe your Christmas?

* Christmas in the Car, criss-crossing four states just to spend a couple of hours with parents, in-laws, grandparents, great-grandparents, step-grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and a few old friends from college?

* Consumer Christmas, marked by a mountain of gifts and wrapping paper?

* Chaotic Christmas, memorable for years to come due to the series of relational and logistical mishaps and disasters? Or maybe the chaos stemmed from twelve-too-many parties scheduled every other evening for an entire month leading up to the 25th?

* Contemplative Christmas, pondering the spiritual meaning rooted in the Word become flesh?

* Melancholy Christmas, feeling the pangs of separation and longing to share some memories with others?

Was it a combination of some of these, or something completely different?

Tell Me a Story

One nice benefit of having a sore back is that it's a great excuse to lie around.

While lying around, I decided to finish Gilead, which was on my stack of Books to Be Read on my nightstand. I didn't include it on the sidebar here because Blogger makes it such a pain.

A friend of mine recommended Gilead to me earlier this year. Even though it's a work of fiction, my friend said it inspired her to pass on to her children and grandchildren a similar (but real, nonfiction) reflection on her life. Having finished the book, I tend to agree. I find myself wanting to capture some sense of Life As I Know It. I'd like to pass on to my family some of my thoughts, beliefs, and reflections.

In college, my creative writing peers responded with curiosity and enthusiasm to my poems about farm life. I thought it might be interesting to once again turn to Memory to take me back there. So many of us grew up in suburbs. Heavens, that's where my own children are growing up at this very moment! Thus, it's becoming a rare thing to meet someone who grew up on a farm. One day, the rural lifestyle will become so rare that it may be lost altogether.

I think about this as I drive along the back roads beyond our subdivision, watching developers carve up farm fields with earthmovers, slicing open spaces into parcels on which oversized American houses will be situated. Corn will be replaced with sod; soybeans, with swingsets. No one will remember the faded, dilapidated barn I admired for the past 12 years. Barns like those are demolished, every trace of them turned over into the earth, or perhaps a few of their weathered boards are rescued by a crafter or antiquer who will use them to construct a cupboard to display Depression glass pitchers or vintage teapots. Then a community clubhouse is erected in their place. Maybe a golf course. Or a tennis court.

There may come a time when memories and perhaps a few photographs taken by those who recognize the inevitable will be all that remains of rural life. We ought to capture those memories. Not only my memories, though I'm tempted to try to set down an account of my upbringing on a few flat acres that fed a small herd of black angus cattle and produced corn, hay and soybeans. But my version would be quite different from others'. I'd like to see what my brother would write.

So much of the blogosphere is taken up with Now Thoughts. Analysis of what is happening at this very moment--politics, news stories, controversies--fill the Internet white space. The immediate snags web readers. Reflections and stories draw in a few.

Don't we need both?

We need to stay abreast of what's happening in the world around us, definitely. But we need stories, too, and reflections on what's passed. Looking back can surely help us look ahead.

I hope my mom and dad will take time to reminisce about their lives in Small Town America. They were children in the '30s and '40s. They tell great stories, and I'm afraid I won't remember them all, certainly not the details that bring them to life. That would be a marvelous Gilead gift for us, and I'll bet they would gain from it, as well.

People have generalized about their era, when chewing gum in class was a scandalous act of defiance at school and mothers all watched out for each other's kids on summer days. We know that. We've read the sweeping generalities. It'll be the details that take us back. We need people to tell us the way life smelled and how things tasted.

When Elizabeth Bolden, previously believed to be the world's oldest known living person, died a few weeks ago, I thought about all the stories that went with her to the grave. Did anybody write them down? As the story I linked you to reported, she was born in 1890, "the year that Idaho became a state and Sitting Bull was killed. She was an adult with a child when Mark Twain passed away. She was 28 years old when World War I ended."

Not long after hearing about her passing, I read an article about the Monuments Men, soldiers whose assignment was to recover and preserve the artwork looted by the Nazis during WWII. A man named Robert Edsel has published a book about this team of men and their unusual and undervalued role in history (and art). As Edsel travels the country to exhibit photographs and material featured in his book, he intends to seek out the few living members of the squad in order to interview them.

“The problem is, we’re in a race with time now,” he was quoted as saying. One officer with a department that helped the Monuments Men just passed away at the age of 98. Stories are passing away, as well.

It's hard while we're living to imagine that our lives will one day be part of history. It's hard to think that the gadgets we think are so cool will be passe in less than a generation. We can't fathom that our breakfast cereal, hairstyles and automobiles will change so dramatically that we may laugh at them when we're 98, or that they won't even exist one day.

Occasionally people speculate about what archaeologists of the future will assume when they dig up our "stuff." What will they conclude about our habits, values and what we felt was worth investing in?

Wouldn't it be nice to leave them some stories to peruse?

Teach Your Children Well

My friend Jenne, a.k.a. Cancer Girl, recently wrote a post on her blog entitled "Teach Your Children Well" that I wanted to share with my mom-friends. In it, she tells a story that takes place in the mall while she's Christmas shopping.

I think I'll launch a family discussion with this story. Might even serve as a devotional of sorts.

As you'll see, the best and most memorable gifts rarely cost a dime.

Someone ought to turn the story into a song. Or a poem. Or a habit.

Need a Laugh?

Feeling a little stressed?

Sometimes a good laugh can help us get rid of some tension.

My good friend Susan G. forwarded this link to me several months ago. I saved it for a long time because it amused me so. The man demonstrates impressive storytelling abilities: he captured specific details and effectively employed metaphor. Whether it was written in advance and acted or happened in real-life on the fly, someone sure does understand how to capture a scene.

I think it was real.


(For those sensitive to swear words, there is one h-e-double hockey sticks, and a few times he may have used the Lord's name in vain. Or it might have been gosh. Hard to tell.)

Humility: What I Think I Heard

Our refrigerator rumbles and rattles, and when I leave some ice cream glassware up there to be put away by someone whose back isn't yanking vertebrae out of alignment, their clinking mingles with the cacophony.

The fridge is so loud, I've considered borrowing a gadget to measure how many decibels it emits. I suspect it is contributing to early hearing loss in our home. I may pass out ear plugs at breakfast.

So on the rare occasions when it stops, the silence is shocking. Only when that aging motor rests, do I remember how quiet the world can be.

Right now, for example, it's off. The room is calm. The glassware is still. I hear the soft whir of a fan turn on for three seconds every minute or so on my computer. An understated furnace fan runs continuously in the background. Somewhere in the neighborhood, I hear pounding. Probably a roofer, repairing somebody's hail damage. Through closed windows, I can hear the dog's tags jingle as the oversized goof flops and flails on his back, gangly legs scissoring the air.

Silence is good. I can listen.

I'm hoping to hear more than the roofer's distant pounding, or my dog's proof of rabies vaccination tinging against his ID tag. I'm hoping to hear something profoud, and I think it can only happen in some degree of silence, away from television's messages, the radio, even the opinions of friends. And only when the fridge motor turns off.

In silence, I open up my Bible. In silence, I study and hope to hear something true. If possible, if appropriate, I hope to discover something that will help me at a personal level.

A friend of mine pointed me to Philippians 2:5-11.

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God
something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to death--even death on a cross!
Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.

My friend said that she hesitated suggesting it to me, because she was thinking it didn't seem very Christmas-y. Upon further reflection, however, she concluded that it seemed to capture the essence of Christmas: that Christ Jesus, being in very nature God, made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. He became a baby. Vulnerable. Human likeness. He became humble.

It's in a passage about humility.

Our attitude is to be the same as Christ Jesus.

Humility toward each other. Considering others better than ourselves. Each of us should look not only to our own interests, but also to the interests of others. That's all in the preceding verses.

I keep thinking about those stories of people scrambling over and trampling each other for the TMX Elmo or the Playstation 3 or whatever it was that was new this year. All for Christmas. I think about how few of my concerns are about how humble I am.

This is what I heard.

Then the fridge motor lurched on again and I lost my train of thought.

Building Beautiful Christmas Memories, One Advil at a Time

I'm sitting here with heat wraps attempting to soothe my sore back muscles. Over the years, this has happened several times. My lower back tells me enough is enough and goes on strike. I limp around like a 98-year-old woman, hunched and slow, creaking along, moaning a little.

All this on the birthday weekend of my 9-year-old daughter whose wish included a trip to Chuck E. Cheese's.

Fortunately, my spouse oversaw the chaos, while I sat at a booth with another daughter who had a headache and curled up on the bench across from me.

And we have a guest.

And this is Christmas Overdrive Week at the school. That's not the official name in the newsletter, of course, but the week is filled with activities I'm expected to attend. With my crunchy, creaky back.

As a result of all of this, I have not exactly been filled with inspirational posts for my blog. I like to tell stories, but I don't even have it in me to package this whole thing in an amusing narration.

I'm sure something will come to me soon, something memorable and powerful.

For now, I think I'll see if I can take another anti-inflammatory.

On Being a Mom

Have you ever read an essay by Anna Quindlen called "On Being a Mom"? I can't find an original source--only people pasting them into blogs and discussion groups.

So here it is on someone else's blog. I don't know the guy who is referencing it. He just had an accessible version.

It's hard not to be overwhelmed with regret and flooded with memories. At the same time, it's hopeful.

Try to remember her key points this Christmas season, fellow moms...especially those with little ones.

Christmas Video

BooMama's church produced a Christmas video for their service. Thought you might like to watch it. Only 3 minutes long.

Kid Gyms at the Golden Arches--What do you think?

By the way, what do you think of those McDonald's kid gyms I mentioned in yesterday's blog?

Sometimes I get e-mails from Belgium, and once someone wrote to me from the Philippines

Yesterday my friend Susan G. forwarded a note from her brother.

The note chronicled a brief interaction between her brother and a friend of his.

It was a seemingly simple exchange--two old friends joking around--that went something like this (I removed their names, but Susan okayed my including the basic content here):

*******************************************
Subject: Wow!

Hey,

The launch was spectacular and you hardly screwed up anything (good thing we were there to keep you straight). If you can't remember how to do something send me an email. Will be in touch.

Enjoy the scenery.


Subject: RE: Wow!

Glad you liked the show. Life here is super, even better than the first time. It's such a privilege to get to do this.

Looking forward to getting together sometime after we get back.
*****************************************************
"After we get back" he writes.

After he gets back from OUTER SPACE!

The e-mail response originated from the space shuttle itself!

And to think I get excited if someone from Toledo, Ohio, comments on my blog.

Boring, but Safe

The December 15th issue of The Week referenced a USA Today story reporting that in seven restaurants, McDonald's is testing high-tech mini-gyms for kids. They'll include exercise bikes that play videos only when pedaled, and dance pads that display the kids' moves on a nearby screen.

The other day a friend and I wanted to have a conversation. The Boy was with me, and our Chick-fil-A (with a play area) isn't open yet. We drove around to check it out, but we have to wait a few more days for the Grand Opening. As we pulled away, The Boy suddenly called out the dreaded alternative: McDonald's!

And I caved.

I know, it's hypocrisy. But I was a cold and lonely mom in need of an uninterrupted conversation with my good friend. The Boy could play and we could sit and sip bad coffee. It was less than adequate, especially when we arrived to find we were surrounded by at least 35 high school students pausing on their way to a field trip. But my friend and I managed to get our beverages, the high school crowd eventually dispersed, and The Boy finished his pancakes and had the play area to himself.

While we were there, however, three adults came in to study the play area. One of them measured this way and that. They conferred. They pointed and nodded. They appeared to talk for a while about the space, though we were too far away to hear any of the conversation--besides, we were having one of our own. Then more measuring, more nodding, some note-taking and agreement, then they finally left.

I didn't think much about it at the time--maybe they were going to put in new flooring or upgrade some sections.

Then I read that article about the high-tech gyms and thought, "Hey, maybe we'll be one of the test markets!"

I used to think this was kind of cool until my brother, who is in advertising, pointed out that we're often the test market because we're so average. Or maybe he said it's because we're somewhat resistant to change, and if a product can make it here, it can make it anywhere? I can't remember now that I'm trying to write it out.

But either possibility is true--we're both average and resistant to change around here in Middle America.

Which reminds me of another story: just the other day I was at the library sitting near the checkout counters. I overheard a new patron with a rather loud voice interact with one of the librarians. "Well, I have to say it seems like a safe place to live," he observed. "I've noticed that!"

"It's safe, all right," the librarian agreed. "Boring, but safe."

And I thought to myself, "That is so true."

And then I thought, "Do I want to continue living in a place that's boring, but safe? As a mother, I like the safe part, but I'm not so sure about the boring part."

And then I thought how sad it was that it never occurred to me to defend the city. I don't know where the man came from before moving here, but I thought how sad it was that my first thought wasn't to point out important, positive, outstanding or impressive aspects of this place. I simply agreed: Boring, but safe.

I've been thinking about it all week. Boring, but safe. Is that how life is to be lived? Or should we live with a degree of risk?

And then this week I came up with a Christmas connection to this theme. It's a bit of a stretch, but not too much.

Work with me here. I'm guessing Galilee might have been described as boring, but safe (at least by First Century standards).

Right there in her sleepy town, Mary was presented with a risk. A big risk. A risk to her reputation, her body, her future. Who knows if she ordinarily preferred things to be predictable and safe, even if that meant boring? We do know that she embraced the risk that presented itself.

"Be it unto me according to thy word."

Not boring. Not safe.

It came right to her.

Right in her otherwise boring, safe community.

I don't know if we can draw any generalizations about a one-of-a-kind moment in history. After all, there will never be another Annunciation. But it got me to wondering, maybe we don't have to leave boring, but safe in order to experience risk and contribute something meaningful to the world.

Sometimes it comes to us.

We just need to keep our eyes open and be willing. When risk shows up at our door, we should probably embrace it.

Journey to Bethlehem

Several years ago, moms were swapping Advent ideas on a homeschool discussion group on which I was lurking. One of their suggestions appealed to me, so I adapted it for our family.

The idea is to create a simple scene alluding to the Judean countryside through which Mary and Joseph figurines can travel during the days of Advent. Jesus stays hidden away until he quietly appears in the manger on Christmas morning.

The trickiest part for us was finding an affordable, unbreakable nativity set in which Jesus was not attached to Mary. Most of them had Jesus and the manger molded together with an adoring, hovering Mary. The first year we found a nice resin set that we thought was attractive and fairly unbreakable, but Jesus was attached to Mary--which 2000+ years ago was a very good thing, but for our purposes needed a little creative masking. We rigged up a rubber-banded cloth to cover up Jesus and the manger. Mary looked very pregnant. We're good at making-do.

Another year I found a nativity set of similar size that included Jesus separate (but still attached to the manger--ideally I wanted an empty manger to be set up and waiting). This year The Boy was given a little manger and a separate Jesus of similar size for a preschool project, so this whole tradition is getting more practical and pathetically mismatched as the years progress.

We've had various mishaps, adding to the humble set-up. One year we traveled to California for Christmas. We wanted to finish our countdown there, so we packed up the pieces and stuffed them in the suitcases. When we pulled them out, the stable was cracked in two, Joseph's and the shepherds' staffs were snapped off, and some decorative ropes were broken from the camels. I was disappointed, but we set it up just the same. The kids were delighted in spite of the imperfection and brokenness.

We superglued things together for the following years and patchworked this concept together as best we could. We collected small stones of similar sizes to use for the winding path--some of them polished stones and others rough-looking pebbles reminiscent of a rocky landscape possibly found near early Bethlehem.

We place a tablecloth over the table and stick an overturned plastic storage container underneath to create a "hill." The animals can meander up and over the Tupperware, the shepherds can tend their flocks hither and yon. I thought the angel should stay relatively near Mary and Joseph, but the scene is small, so it can fulfill its duties from just about anywhere.

The wisemen just sort of hang out. I used to place them in another part of the room so they could slowly work their way closer in order to arrive on Epiphany, beginning to inch into the scene sometime during the first week of January, but the kids wanted them in the scene this year.

Every day, the kids argue about who gets to move Mary and who gets to move Joseph. Someone else jostles the shepherds around to a new locale. And the humble, makeshift countdown continues until Christmas Day.

Something about the simplicity seems appropriate for how humble and makeshift the first Christmas must have been.

At least, I tell myself this. Otherwise, I could get pretty discouraged when I see layouts like THIS (be sure to visit the website her sister-in-law set up to highlight some of the nooks and crannies of this spectacular scene).

After you visit that, be sure to compare with our pathetic, makeshift, superglued version. The contrast will amuse you.

A Video Difficult to Categorize (or describe or prepare you for)

This video* falls into several categories, including:

"Can anything be more French?"

"How did he do that?"

"Okay, you're freakin' me out"

and "Jenne really hates mime"


If you have 8 minutes and 19 seconds free, enjoy the show.


(* Link courtesy of web-cruiser Peter W.)

Julie's post at Mental Tesserae

While I'm on a roll, let me recommend this most excellent post by Julie, also found on my BlogLog, who floors me with the depth and humor in her writing.

How does she do that?

Check Out This "Wordless Wednesday" on Thursday

Someone online hosts "Wordless Wednesdays." Bloggers borrow the icon and paste it into their posts, then upload a photograph that speaks for itself. "Heth" participated in it this week. I don't know her personally, though I enjoyed her blog enough to visit it frequently (see "UnderTheLaundryPile" on my BlogLog).

Her Wordless Wednesday post this week is just, well, check it out for yourself.

Because of Winn-Dixie, Kate DiCamillo, and related thoughts

At the last minute, someone gave us free tickets to see the premiere of "Because of Winn-Dixie" at the Heartland Film Festival a couple of years ago. At the time I'd not heard of the movie or the book, but I figured the kids would love a heartwarming story involving a dog; so, I snatched up those tickets with a big "thank-you" and zipped over to Barnes and Noble to find a copy of Kate DiCamillos' book.

The book was short. I flipped through the pages and thought, "We could read this in a day." So we started reading it out loud as soon as we left the bookstore and climbed into the van to drive home. We read it while I slapped together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, while munching chips and carrot sticks, passing the book around as each person finished eating. We kept reading as we drove down Meridian Street toward the State Museum, where the film would be shown. We actually read it (softly) in line while waiting to take our seats.

We leaned in toward each other on the cushiony red theater seats and read the last few pages. The lights dimmed as I read the very last line and closed the book.

Then we sat back and watched the movie.

Have you ever done that? Finished the book moments before watching the film version?

It's a little weird. And a little wonderful.

And of course, the book is better than the movie.

Now, I'm biased, loving books as I do. But I have some arguments for why I think it's true.

** Spoiler Alert!! If you haven't yet seen the movie or read the book, continue at risk of a let-down **

The pivotal scene in the book occurs when Opal's father finally breaks down and weeps, grieving the enormous loss in his life. While that scene was well-acted by Jeff Daniels, it didn't compare to the scene when we read it aloud. While reading, I had one of those gulping-back-the-lump moments in the car. It was powerful.

In the film, I sensed that the director was torn, that in the movie he wanted that scene to be equally powerful as it was in the book, but he also wanted to save the moment-of-all-moments for the very end, when they found Winn-Dixie and partied with their friends. Those decisions somehow minimized the enormity of the dad's change and didn't leave me gulping back any lumps. It was less complex.

Another disappointing change was that the moviemakers added comic relief in a Barney Fife-type bumbling small town sheriff, who didn't even exist in the book. In one scene, Winn-Dixie jumps up and pulls down his pants, revealing silky boxers with something unexpected all over it, like hearts. Ha. Ha. Goofy sheriff with his specialty boxers showing.

In a later scene--often shown in previews--Winn-Dixie eats a cannister of candies, and when Opal interrogates him, he belches loud and long.

During those scenes, I shook my head slightly, thinking, Oh, brother. The book was so powerful without all of this slapstick. They underestimate the ability for kids to handle deep material and wrote in some crude humor that they think will make kids laugh, but it interrupts the story and doesn't even fit in. My kids were moved by the book. They didn't need all this silliness.

At that moment, I turned to look down the row at my four children. They were, of course, bouncing in their seats and laughing so hard their cheeks were flushed and the third girl was wiping away tears. Oh, yes. We are so sophisticated.

And yes, I really did think those thoughts while sitting in the movie theater. Sometimes I take all the fun out of things by overanalyzing them.

Well, because this post is kind of about Kate DiCamillo, I shall go ahead and inform you that we recently picked up a copy of The Tale of Despereaux, another of her books, which won the Newbery Medal in 2004.

My eldest daughter finished it a few days ago. She walked in the room, set the book down next to my computer and said, "This is great. It's inspiring. You should read it."

Like Because of Winn-Dixie, it was fairly short. So I picked it up and read it, even though it wasn't on the stack on my nightstand.

She was right. It was inspiring. On many levels.

One thing that inspired me as a reader and a writer, was how she can tell such profound and beautiful stories with such economy of words? Both of those books were, as I said, rather short. But she touches on the biggest themes of all times: love, hope, struggle, loss, sacrifice. Never did I feel that she minimized them, overly simplified, or condescended to the reader; nor did she speak over their heads or confuse.

A book with a similar strength is Sarah, Plain and Tall. Like DiCamillo, author Patricia MacLachlan tells a difficult, beautiful story with a simple voice. It lingers. It digs down deep and stays with me.

I want to find all of the books that do that, share them with my children, and treasure them myself.

I'd love to write stories like that.

A Poem for Moms

Moms, you have got to read this poem: "Things You Didn't Put on Your Resume."

Or you could listen to Garrison Keillor read it by clicking on "Listen" at the top of that page (when the RealPlayer pops up, you can advance the little time bar to 3:00, so you don't have to listen to all the day's birthday information).

Normally I read an e-mail text version of Writer's Almanac, but today I was in the car at 9:00.

So I listened.

Sniffled.

Had to swallow back the lump that was forming and squeeze-blink, so that I wouldn't mist up.

Even though I can't play one note on a violin nor have I taken the kids to Yellowstone, Joyce Sutphen captured my life.

When you find yourself in a poem filled with specifics that aren't your own, you have found the power of poetry.

Consumerism -v- Compacting

I've been thinking a lot about consumerism.

I feel like I could write pages about it.

But there are others making interesting choices who are living more dramatically all of the things I'm chewing on.

This young mom talks about her decision to "compact." This post on her blog talks more specifically about it and explains some of how she's handling it. She gives some links to articles explaining the compact that inspired her.

Being a devoted Goodwill shopper myself, I was intrigued and tempted. I could almost agree to the Compact. I could almost pull it off.

It's tempting. Especially in the midst of the Christmas shopping frenzy.

See what you think of the compacting idea.

Could you do it?

Let the Waiting Begin

First Sunday of Advent.

A season of anticipation.

Of waiting.

A season that a mother can relate to on so many levels. Whether waiting for an adopted baby to be placed in her arms, a biological child to be born, or to officially enter the life of her stepchild, the suspense weighs on her. It grows. It drags out. It maddens.

So much change to come: A new person. A new life.

If anyone can come close to understanding the idea behind Advent, it's a mom.

We mothers understand it in our bones. We know what it's like to be a new person ourselves and to hold a new person. We understand new life on multiple levels.

Sometimes the rituals we do around Advent seem a little affected and forced. We light a candle on our Advent wreath and talk about the light to come into the world. We listen to parts of Handel's "Messiah." We talk about waiting and try to help the children make some connection between their anticipation of Christmas and people who were waiting for Jesus to come into the world.

But the idea behind it is powerful. All of Israel awaited Messiah. The suspense grew and dragged out for centuries. It may have weighed on some, maddened others. But they believed that with the Messiah would come change. A new people. A new life.

Then Jesus arrived--such a different arrival than the one expected for Messiah. Many still wait, not believing He was--is--the One. But those who did believe Jesus to be the Messiah experienced so much change. They became new people. They got new lives for old.

This is what it's all about. Today, we can become new people. We can have new lives for old.

So we go ahead and light the candles, even if it's a bit affected. We go ahead and read the passages from Isaiah and John. We go ahead and talk about waiting. And when the candlelight flickers and the kids stare at the light, who cares if they understand it all? In the hushed silence--interrupted and punctuated with odd questions from the youngest two--they get a feel for something...something big. Something worth waiting for.

In the darkness, a line of dark smoke rising above the single flame, the children get a hint of it, of what's real and true.

Of Who it is that's worth waiting for.

Discovering the Majestic in the Mundane

A few years ago, I asked my friend Trish about any encounters she had with kids and nature.

She told me this story:

My daughter, Sabrina, helps me see the majestic in the mundane. We were walking up to the post office to mail some presents, and I couldn’t wait for vacation--to get to the mountains and get some good-looking scenery. I was focused far ahead and not on the present. As Sabrina was walking up, she gasped and said in a hushed voice, “Mommy, look! There’s a sea of diamonds!” This was a revelation to me. I started noticing, and you know, the snow, glistening, really is a sea of diamonds! It’s at malls when you’re walking up; it’s absolutely majestic. What a blessing to have this child in my life; I would never have seen it otherwise.

Tips for the Reluctant Naturalist

I do believe that being outdoors and enjoying nature is good for me. Like Mary Pipher pointed out, people need contact with the natural world as an antidote to advertising and to offer a different perspective on the universe.

Generally I enjoy the outdoors and nature, but I won't be applying any of the following suggestions today. Wind gusts, falling temperatures, and splattering sleet are going to keep me either in the car or inside a building with extra layers piled on for warmth. So file these away for future reference, or if your weather conditions are more favorable, try one on for size. You may build some wonderful memories.


Tips for the Reluctant Naturalist

· Instead of watching “Oprah” tomorrow afternoon, load up the kids in a wagon, pack a snack, and take a walk.

· Keep a nature journal. Try sketching and adding watercolors later. Look up the names of everything you study and write them out. Adam was given the task of naming the animals. Recognizing and remembering the names given to the things of creation can help us appreciate their intrinsic value.

· Go camping. Easy for me to say? Okay, so I love camping. I’ll admit it. I love torn jeans and hair up in a ponytail, no makeup, hiking, going to sleep surrounded by night sounds with nothing but thin nylon separating me from God’s creation. Who knows? God may use camping in your life, too, to help you feel more connected and dependent on Him.

· Small children love nature. Learn to love it from them. Dig in the mud. Watch an anthill. Hold a snail in your hand. Lie on a blanket and watch clouds float past. See how children may inspire you to notice more.

· Go for a twenty-minute walk every day. Notice seasonal changes. Watch flowers bloom, flourish, fade and develop seeds. Pay more attention as you go. It’ll do wonders for your figure, health, and your appreciation of the Creator.

· Read books by nature-lovers like Annie Dillard, James Herriot, and Gerald Durrell. Their personal passion may turn you on to animals and living things in ways you never thought possible! And because your ultimate goal is to listen to God through them, you’ll have an added dimension to your own journeys into the natural world.

· Read Job 39, then visit a zoo to appreciate the wide range of animals God created. Wonder at His creativity. What can you learn from the wallaby, emu, or lemur?

· Consider gardening at some level. If you never have before, you can read books and talk with friends for ideas, but until you’re digging in the soil yourself you’ll lack that firsthand knowledge of what God wants to say about Himself and about you.

· Pick a nature hobby. Bird-watching, gardening, shell- or rock-collecting can encourage you to explore one area in more depth. As you learn more details about your special interest, you may find there is even more insight to gain.

· Plan a vacation that includes a natural wonder you rarely see—geysers, hot springs, caves, mountains, waterfalls, canyons, icebergs, or oceans.

· If it’s possible where you live, hang a birdbath or have a birdfeeder this winter—or any time of year—and keep it filled. Keep a log of the birds that visit.

· Eat outside whenever possible. Pile on a sweater or coat in the fall. Throw a blanket on the ground if you don’t have a picnic table.

· Open the windows in your house when weather permits. Roll down the windows of your car.

· Leave the house a few degrees cooler in winter and warmer in summer to get more in tune with what’s happening outside the house. Unnaturally high or low indoor temperatures from heaters and air conditioners give us a false sense of security, making us forget our very real dependence on God.

· Admire your family, your precious children, in their beauty and complexity. Gaze upon a sleeping baby. Marvel at a young swimmer diving into the pool. God created mankind. And it was good.


[adapted from The Contemplative Mom: Restoring Rich Relationship with God in the Midst of Motherhood]