Tuesday night. Again. Tuesday nights, Greg teaches down in Hamilton and I have the house to myself. On Tuesday nights I do things like talk to Linds for two hours, hands-free set in use, while walking around the house, cleaning up, organizing. I eat crackers and cheese for supper, or maybe a grilled cheese sandwich, or a quesadilla (yes, I know there's a theme here!). I blog. I enjoy this space; it is good for me. But I am always glad to see him when I get home from work on Wednesday afternoon.
Basil is sitting on my lap, purring. How do cats know? They wait until you're doing something that requires mobility, or until you are just about ready to stand up and go into the other room--and bam, they leap in their elegant fluid way onto your lap, walk in a circle or three, and start purring. It's the purring that does it. I can't resist it, especially when it's Basil. He is not always affectionate, so when he is, I feel compelled to stay sitting, to be slightly inconvenienced in order to enjoy his cuddly company. He is still esconced in his "cone of shame," and will be for another couple of weeks, unfortunately. I do hope we can take it off before we leave for Iowa . . . and Morocco . . . and Egypt. Fingers crossed.
It is cold outside. -3 degrees, to be exact. It is also very clear, and if I look outside I can see Orion hanging above the eastern mountains. Inside I am cozy. The Christmas tree lights shine gently in the corner; another string outlines the window behind me. It is what they call "the Christmas season," yet I am not quite feeling it yet. It is Advent, one of my very favorite seasons of the church year, and yet my life feels too hurried to enjoy it, to slow down and recognize that it is here.
In church on Sunday we lit two blue candles, one for hope, one for peace. Blue banners hung from the ceiling, and Pastor Jean wore a blue stole over her robe. All this to help us remember what season we are in. I want to feel it, to let it sink in.
At work yesterday, I listened to Christmas music, to try to get myself into the mood. As I write that, I wonder--what does that mean? What is this "mood" of Christmas that I'm seeking? What I mean by that is that I am wanting to feel that my life is slowing down enough for me to see it clearly. I want to take time to walk outside and see Orion glimmering in the black December sky. I want to see the beauty around me, the depths of the world around me, to sense the magic, the mystery of this season. That's it, right there: I want the magic of it. The magic of people loving one another. The magic of snow falling on the trees and houses and past the streetlights. The magic of walking with the man I love through the snow, past houses with cozy yellow light spilling from their windows. The magic of feeling that there is love in the world, that all the world is loved, that there is a loving God who wraps this world--with all its hurts and happinesses--in her arms.
That is the magic that I'm seeking.
As I listened to all my favorite Christmas songs playing--O Holy Night, music from the Nutcracker, the Hallelujah chorus--I felt just a little bit of that magic swelling around me. I looked out my window at the mountains, their tops dusted with snow, gleaming brightly in the sunshine. I listened to the words of "Joy to the World," another favorite. And four words played themselves over and over in my mind: "Repeat the sounding joy!"
Repeat the sounding joy. Hearing it reminds me of that line from Garden State: "Good luck exploring the infinite abyss!" Reminds me that THIS is what we're meant to do: explore the infinite (and beautiful, and terrifying, and dazzling) abyss . . . and remember that we also need to repeat, and repeat, and repeat again the sounding joy.
. . . the echoes of joy sounding in the starlight and the brilliant cold air, in the snowflakes, in the purring of kitties and the comfort of down slippers. In the glow of the Christmas lights, in bear hugs, in letters from friends on the other side of the world. In the voices of friends and the songs of angels--
repeat the sounding joy.
Basil is sitting on my lap, purring. How do cats know? They wait until you're doing something that requires mobility, or until you are just about ready to stand up and go into the other room--and bam, they leap in their elegant fluid way onto your lap, walk in a circle or three, and start purring. It's the purring that does it. I can't resist it, especially when it's Basil. He is not always affectionate, so when he is, I feel compelled to stay sitting, to be slightly inconvenienced in order to enjoy his cuddly company. He is still esconced in his "cone of shame," and will be for another couple of weeks, unfortunately. I do hope we can take it off before we leave for Iowa . . . and Morocco . . . and Egypt. Fingers crossed.
It is cold outside. -3 degrees, to be exact. It is also very clear, and if I look outside I can see Orion hanging above the eastern mountains. Inside I am cozy. The Christmas tree lights shine gently in the corner; another string outlines the window behind me. It is what they call "the Christmas season," yet I am not quite feeling it yet. It is Advent, one of my very favorite seasons of the church year, and yet my life feels too hurried to enjoy it, to slow down and recognize that it is here.
In church on Sunday we lit two blue candles, one for hope, one for peace. Blue banners hung from the ceiling, and Pastor Jean wore a blue stole over her robe. All this to help us remember what season we are in. I want to feel it, to let it sink in.
At work yesterday, I listened to Christmas music, to try to get myself into the mood. As I write that, I wonder--what does that mean? What is this "mood" of Christmas that I'm seeking? What I mean by that is that I am wanting to feel that my life is slowing down enough for me to see it clearly. I want to take time to walk outside and see Orion glimmering in the black December sky. I want to see the beauty around me, the depths of the world around me, to sense the magic, the mystery of this season. That's it, right there: I want the magic of it. The magic of people loving one another. The magic of snow falling on the trees and houses and past the streetlights. The magic of walking with the man I love through the snow, past houses with cozy yellow light spilling from their windows. The magic of feeling that there is love in the world, that all the world is loved, that there is a loving God who wraps this world--with all its hurts and happinesses--in her arms.
That is the magic that I'm seeking.
As I listened to all my favorite Christmas songs playing--O Holy Night, music from the Nutcracker, the Hallelujah chorus--I felt just a little bit of that magic swelling around me. I looked out my window at the mountains, their tops dusted with snow, gleaming brightly in the sunshine. I listened to the words of "Joy to the World," another favorite. And four words played themselves over and over in my mind: "Repeat the sounding joy!"
Repeat the sounding joy. Hearing it reminds me of that line from Garden State: "Good luck exploring the infinite abyss!" Reminds me that THIS is what we're meant to do: explore the infinite (and beautiful, and terrifying, and dazzling) abyss . . . and remember that we also need to repeat, and repeat, and repeat again the sounding joy.
. . . the echoes of joy sounding in the starlight and the brilliant cold air, in the snowflakes, in the purring of kitties and the comfort of down slippers. In the glow of the Christmas lights, in bear hugs, in letters from friends on the other side of the world. In the voices of friends and the songs of angels--
repeat the sounding joy.
I love it. I feel like we're talking over hot chocolate in your living room, and I feel warmed. I envy your comfortable spot in Montana. I'm glad I'll be able to see you when I return. Really, I think we will always feel like we should be doing more; this feeling drives us forward.
ReplyDeleteAmen!! thanks for the reminder -- I need it daily (at a minimum!) -- to slow down long enough to see, hear, taste, know, and share the joy~ :-)
ReplyDeleteReading your writing helps get me in the Christmas mood. Thank you, sister. :)
ReplyDelete