Advent: Exposed, Preparing Room

It has been an interesting week. At the beginning of it, I assumed that there would be ample time to bake Christmas cookies for friends and neighbors who come to our open house on Sunday. I assumed there would be ample time to gear up for a work weekend, to finish making and write all my Christmas cards, to observe Advent, to pray with my community, to attend various Advent services/Christmas parties my friends have been having all week.

But. We found bed bugs. Not many, but enough to warrant treatment, which was a source of intense stress for all of us this week. We felt violated by our uninvited guests, determined to get rid of them and quickly. What it meant for us was loads and loads of laundry -- washing all our bedding and clothing, running our machines, and our gracious neighbors’ machines, for multiple hours everyday to get it all done before the first treatment on Thursday. Annoyed by this major inconvenience, I was hardly able to handle the stress with the addition of a few particularly stressful days at work, and news of a family member’s hospitalization. Perfect storm. I was in the mood for a pity party, and sat down at one point to have a good cry and nurse my angry feelings toward bedbugs. It was so easy to count my first-world problems as significant, life-altering woes.

To prepare for treatment for bed bugs, we had to move all our furniture and belongings to the middle of each room. Wednesday night, after a long day of cleaning and laundry and feeling sorry for myself, I curled up in my sleeping bag next to the startlingly high pile of worldly possessions in the center of my bedroom. More than the tiredness and the frustration, I felt exposed.

All the things in the middle of the room reflected that which I need mixed in with the excess I don’t need but uncritically hold onto. How did I acquire this much “stuff” when I am actively seeking to live a simple life, materially and in other ways? Where was it all hiding when my room was orderly and tidy? I thought I had dealt with the clutter already, in my seasonal times of purging and giving. I felt exposed, also, in what came out of my stress this week; my self-pity, my focus on all the problems, my negativity. I was miserable and miserable to be around. How did I acquire this much “stuff”, when I’ve spent the better part of my life getting rid of it? Where was it hiding in me when everything else in my heart was seemingly in order? It put me in a pretty difficult place to trust my all-loving God and trust that God would grant me enough -- enough emotional reserves, enough physical energy, enough spiritual awareness of God’s goodness to deal well with each thing that sprung up this week.

I am hesitant to say that God used blood-sucking bed bugs to teach me a significant lesson, to expose me and all the things I haven’t even realized I am hiding and tucking away in secret spots. (Do they really deserve that much time, money, and now - credit for bringing me to my knees?) There is much to learn from this situation, about exposing the ugly and the excess and the hidden and dealing with it, instead of letting it sit untouched in corners and closets.

As we move back into our home and start unpacking our material lives, this physical activity of cleaning and sorting and throwing away is helping my rumpled spirit to also address the inner junk that it’s time to part with and get rid of. Before the cookies and the Christmas cards and the parties and caroling and festivities, my Advent experience this year has included “preparing Him room” and inviting Light into the dark corners. Joy to the world, indeed, because of the One who came, who comes, who’s coming again, changing us, making all things new and, very hopefully, bed-bug-free!

A meaningful Advent to you.

someone else's thought on prayer, worth repeating.

"Prayer is not primarily saying words or thinking thoughts. It is, rather, a stance. It's a way of living in the Presence. It is, further, a way of living in awareness of the Presence, even enjoying the Presence. The full contemplative is not just aware of the Presence, but trusts, allows, and delights in it."
-Richard Rohr

open your window and look upon all the kinds of alive you can be; be still, be light, believe Me.

Today, I looked out a window and took my time remembering, in the spirit of the above quoted Weepies song, all the kinds of alive I can be. And it got me feeling thankful.

Thanking Jesus:

* that some things remain the same.

Namely, that Katie is still the funniest person I know, and visits.

* that some things change.

Namely, that Josh and Cale are married! And new neighbors! And growing a tree.

* that neighbors bring over pies, and old community members still visit.

Namely, that our neighbor Adam brought us a box of blueberry pies, and Christy is still such a large part of our lives.

* that new community members bring with them so many peaches and that we will be eating like queens and kings this winter!

Namely, that Sarah is in the area, is joining our community, and shares a love for stewarding the earth and preserving the harvest.

* that there is both rain and shine in Allison Hill -- and sometimes both at the same time.

Namely, Psalm 111:1.

tired, rested.

I fought my alarm all week this week; there were too many 5 o’clock mornings that followed late nights. I thought a lot about God’s faithfulness, in my early morning stupor and my late night fog, even in my middle-of-the-night impulse to get up and start the day. Each moment I thought that I would surely fall over if I tried to stand up –-some time in the middle of the next day when my full-blown exhaustion hit--was followed closely by another moment in which I felt surrounded, carried, supported.

I came home completely spent one day, with a full evening ahead, and was met with a long letter from a friend who lives far away. Her words rested and strengthened me.

I came home exhausted another day, fully prepared to make dinner for friends, but I collapsed on the floor in my alcove instead and accidentally fell asleep. For one who never takes naps (ever!), this caught me by surprise. But when I woke, realizing I had far less time to prepare before others would be coming, Josh was knocking on the door to wonder if he could make dinner for us tonight. His offer offered such relief; God, through Josh, lifted me.

I sat exhausted at my desk yesterday afternoon, fully prepared to get caught up on online training when one of my residents came in and burst into tears; she had a broken heart and could I listen to her for a bit? Of course I could listen (but how actively? and could I share in her despair, pray with, encourage her also?) A small plea for help ushered in the Spirit that prays and speaks and encourages, even in spite of exhaustion, even in spite of heartbreak—perhaps especially because of exhaustion and heartbreak. I felt grateful that in my moment of need and hers, the Holy Spirit cared for us.

Maybe these times of exhaustion and depletion put us on our knees so we are in better positions to surrender, to acknowledge that anything we say/do doesn’t come from our own strength or emotional reserves, to worship the One who is all-faithful and all-knowing in our weakness. Maybe it’s on our knees that we can best come in our weariness to the One whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light, who is gentle and humble in heart. Maybe that's where Christ's power is made perfect.

I feel tired from another long work weekend, but I feel rested in my Spirit, rested on my knees.

On most days, it's a race against time to get everything done before clock-out time. On Friday afternoons, the race is that much more intense because of all the loose ends to tie up, follow-up conversations to have, final phone calls to confirm appointments, transportation, etc. In trying to be productive and get the most done, I have accidentally learned how to think about ten things at the same time. Or, perhaps, I have become aware of this ability and honed it.

On the final leg of the race one Friday, I found myself in PS's room, helping her dry off and dress after her shower. She's likes choices -- "PS, would you like the pink socks or the socks with jack-o-lanterns on them?" She will always choose the jack-o-lanterns, but I ask anyway. "Powder Fresh lotion or Gardenia lotion today?" We go with the powder scented one. "Would you like to comb your hair, or can I comb for you?" I comb curls out of her eyes and create a part; she looks fresh and content, a break from her easily agitated disposition. She chats about the weekend; she has some coins she wants to put in the offering plate on Sunday. I straighten her bed, hang her robe, put her shoes on her feet. At the end of every shower-time with PS, before I leave, I always ask -- "Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?". This time, I have already left (in my mind) and I am halfway down the hall, trying to decide which of the twelve things still left on my to-do list needs to happen next. My hand is on the door, I'm ready to jet, but first -- is there anything else I can do?

She looks up at me, "No. Just be my friend."

Just be my friend.

There was a shift; a moment of deep conviction opened up an opportunity for correction.

In my rush, I once again lost sight of the things that are truly important -- the call to respond to the often unspoken needs and of those around me, loving and being with people, being aware and present. To hear the inner-Voice that guides and directs us into an understanding of need, there must be a stillness of spirit, even as I am flying around. How many times have I been swept up and away with the rush, the getting things done? How many times have I failed at stillness and unintentionally rejected Jesus? How many times have I been too busy to hear "just be my friend"?

But now is not the time for personal reflection; now is the time to drop the to-do list, for a while, for the love of God, and to be a friend. So I sit down on the edge of her bed and we chat for a bit longer. She tells me a story. I open the blind in her bedroom to let in a little light. She comments on my slacks. I smile because she says "slacks". She asks about my mother and if I am staying for dinner; I fasten her hair clip. Before I leave, she grabs my hand and says, "how about a hug?" Hugs for PS really mean two-handed hand-shakes. We two-handed hand-shook. She's teaching me all about how to be a friend; by the grace of God, I'm learning.

even though I weep

God stir the soil,
Run the ploughshare deep,
Cut the furrows round and round,
Overturn the hard, dry ground,
Spare no strength nor toil,
Even though I weep.
In the loose, fresh mangled earth
Sow new seed.
Free of withered vine and weed
Bring fair flower to birth.

-prayer from Singapore, Church Missionary Society

things i also love lately (besides my job)

what is happening in my community -- three houses, six (or seven!) people, all on the same block, two coming marriages, a whole lot of love and a whole lot of dreaming about our future together.

sitting with the geese.

smoothie disasters. strike that. smoothie adventures with this girl.

zucchini plants that are taking over the yard, that end up being pumpkin plants!

looking for peppers with these guys.

gardens that take up the walkway. who needs a walkway, anyway?

the way allison hill looks with flowers.

journeying with these girls.

neighbors and silliness.