Sunday, December 6

Enjoy The Gift

From the ninth chapter of Isaiah in The Message, “For a child has been born—for us! The gift of a son—for us! He’ll take over the running of the world. His names will be: Amazing Counselor, Strong God, Eternal Father, Prince of Wholeness. His ruling authority will grow, and there’ll be no limits to the wholeness he brings.”

Sometime during the week of Christmas you’ll find me along I-75 North reminiscing and anticipating. Each mile reads like a storybook, telling the tales of Holiday’s past in a way that pays homage to tradition. See, my Christmas journey is an annual eight hour road trip home. With wrapped packages inhabiting the backseat of my sleigh, my quest is clear: enjoy The Gift. My cat, tranquil in the passenger seat, does not need to help navigate, for I can route this journey blindfolded. It is a familiar path. This mighty Bridge connects who I am now to the familiarity of home.

There are memories that draw me close like a relative’s hug. Growing up, small Christmas Eve gatherings of Oysti’s contrasted the clan of Anderson’s on Christmas Day. Neither dinner table ever seemed big enough, no tradition small enough. Where the airs of matriarchs Wilma and Ingrid remain there is nostalgia. Homemade gifts by cousin Janna, flying dinner rolls from Uncle Gordy, and a raucous caused by great-grandchildren. Isn’t this what the season is about? Memories so palpable, only the birth of our Christ could call them back to vividness.

There are rituals I count on to fulfill the excitement of the Season. My dad waits at the Christmas tree, Minolta ready, to forever capture the initial surprise of my sister and me. My mom brings in the hot chocolate and coffee while we wait for her Christmas Casserole to bake. My sister complains that she finishes opening her stocking before I do. Our cats weave in and out of torn wrappings and gift boxes. The whole of Lilac Street illuminates their outdoor Christmas lights to signify they are awake and celebrating. Isn’t this what the season is about? Traditions so simple, only the birth of our Christ could deem them exquisite.

What gifts to anticipate as the miles pass and the snow mounds relative to my longitudinal value! My toll is paid, and even in sub-zero temperatures, the sign welcoming me to the Upper Peninsula feels warm. So warm, in fact, that the three hours left of my journey are unquestionably idyllic, for I am home, enjoying The Gift.

Prayer: God of the Season we hold dear, Thank you for moments that, someday, become traditions. Help us enjoy the Gift as we journey toward your wholeness. Amen.

Monday, December 7

Bass Waves
Luke 2:8-12

At the front of a stage lit with lights in hues of red, green and blue, I anticipated the members of my favorite band taking the stage. Fellow crowd members clapped in time with the speed of my heart and excited bursts of screams erupted from our mouths. Live shows are my bliss, even if it means placement in front of a stack of subwoofers. My position at stage right didn’t bother me until the opening act shed his acoustic tendencies and dug into a full-band-setting complete with booming bass frequencies. Each beat pulsed with such force it literally blew my hair back and I rocked there remembering the past six months and how I had let God do the same.

I moved to a windier city in Illinois this year, so yesterday’s devotion about my Christmas journey is in need of an upgrade. This town is brand new to me, with no crutch of family or friends, but it’s where I have become a Director of Youth Ministry and it feels electric. If I were to press my hand against the dust shield of my life’s speaker, God’s current would bump relentlessly against my skin. Months of oscillating crests and troughs shook me to the core and promoted a necessary shift in self. This may sound strange, but my Rory-Gilmore-list of pros and cons about moving from Michigan included the impending absence of the mighty Mackinaw Bridge. Though I will miss its Christmas week grandeur, I have come to realize a lot of time, post-college, was spent afraid to journey somewhere unrecognizable.

In the second chapter of Luke, the shepherds were visited by an angel who said, “Do not be afraid.” Terrified as they were, their decision was to see Jesus for themselves. Amidst an unsettling mix of trepidation, courage and mystery, we are kin, these shepherds and me. One great decision brought us all to a manger. A baby’s cry rose from the one before them and I’m still feeling the reverberations in the Land of Lincoln. This year’s Christmas journey began in the summer heat.

As NeedtoBreathe took the stage that Friday night in Chicago, I thanked God for sending me waves of change. The texture of this half year has been breathless, agonizing and stirring. Next time you’re at a live show, check out the space in front of the subwoofer. The bass waves are kicking and it feels fine.

Prayer: God of the unknown, Thank you for reminding us of the work you do inside even when it’s inaudible. As we journey closer to Christmas, call on us to hear the cries and feel the reverberations. You are most holy and worthy of all praise. Amen.

Tuesday, December 8

Christmas with Ingrid
Luke 2:8-20

The last Christmastime I spent with my Gramma defined, what I now understand to be, the essence of being. We decided to have a girl’s morning in at her apartment, so I bundled up and made the familiar trek toward Teal Lake. I brought along her recipe for Kropsua (Finnish pancakes) and surprised her with a perfect plate full of crepe-like goodness. We ate and laughed and caught up on the life that had transpired since the last time we’d spoke. She and I were lovely friends and it was easy to lose time sitting in the chair next to her.

Each Sunday growing up, we would stop at Gramma’s house to learn a new line dance. Laugh if you will, but had you passed by the window of the gray house on County Road , you would have seen some serious boot-scootin’, heel-stompin’ country girls—and Gramma was our teacher. So, I felt it fitting to watch “White Christmas” with her that morning so we’d get to dance together one more time. The actors were infinitely better than we could have ever been, but we imagined just the same, and somehow ended up on that Vermont stage with Bing and the gang. She didn’t notice me watching, but her wrinkled face was animated. Her eyes glittered like the costumes on screen and her painted fingers tapped to the familiar tunes. Though slightly muted, even after ninety Christmases, this woman had oomph, and I loved watching it stir inside her.

As if I’d been visited by a holiday Spirit, Christmas changed for me that day. Gramma and I didn’t exchange packages or cook a turkey feast for twelve; we simply treasured each other’s company, and it remains my favorite of the gifts she ever gave me. In a rocking chair, wrapped up in her homemade afghan my eyes were opened to the power of presence. The night Jesus was born, the shepherds were introduced to a Presence that would forever change the face of humanity, and I would guess He glittered a lot like Gramma.

I miss her. I miss the way she said my name, the way she hugged me tight, the way she smelled of comfort. I miss her most, though, at Christmastime. So, if I could ask for one gift this Season, in addition to your enjoyment of someone’s presence, it would be that you see Ingrid in me.

Prayer: Most-present God, Excite us, like you did the shepherds, this special Season. Teach us that time is gift enough. Amen.

Wednesday, December 9

It’s Not Your Birthday
Matthew 25:31-45

My original plan for today’s reading was to tell you about the year that the gift, the one I’d asked every mall Santa for, was under the tree. I wanted to tell you how its luster glowed beneath the blue spruce and how, when I used it for the first time, a new found glory shown around our house with defined rays of sun. It was going to be a famous story, one full of details to evoke jealousy, but there is just one problem. I cannot think of any material gift worth that kind of fame. Sure, there were skis, electronics and a bunch of Benjamins, gifts which I truly appreciated, but their novelty was always outlived by something bigger, something better, something even less satisfying. The revelation here is that the celebration we call Christmas is not my birthday, and I hate to break it to you, but it’s not yours either!

Not too long ago, my friend Rebecca and I were discussing how we don’t actually feel our own age. We wondered if this is how everyone feels or if we are genetically predisposed to young-heartedness. Funny enough, shortly after our conversation, I unconsciously began to inch my way closer to 28 and it started with a re-think of this gifting dilemma. My parents, especially, have started to say they don’t really need anything and I shouldn’t spend too much money on them. Exasperated and demanding, I can usually drag a few ideas of fluff out of them, which satisfies my contribution to the mound of packages on our living room floor.

This year I want to take the gift protests seriously and still fulfill my longing to return a portion of what they’ve given to me. My church offers an alternate giving opportunity where, in someone else’s name, one can contribute to an organization, ministry or cause. Like a proud mama, I am thrilled that our 2010 youth mission team is on that list of recipients, and it warms my soul to know my family will be a part of changing young lives. It is this decision that makes me feel grown up. When you can no longer recall the best gift that ever sat beneath your Christmas tree it’s time to think outside the box. Don’t buy into the filler because it never satisfies and it is really not our birthday.

Prayer: Gifting God, It is tough to go against the world’s obsession with material things. As we check people and packages off of our Christmas lists, show us how we might be able to give back in a new, more meaningful way. Amen.

Thursday, December 10

Trees
Psalm 19

One of my favorite smells is that of a Christmas tree. Mine is artificial, so at the mere mention of purchasing a faker, my parents got an earful of protest from me. When I walk through our front door on Lilac Street, I want to smell the tree before I can see it. I would like to point out that this expectation is not entirely my fault, for it all started when dad used to take us out to cut down our own tree.

Growing up in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, we Yoopers know snow. There are pictures of me standing on a mound of white that towered over our neighbor’s home. The neighborhood gang and I used to make forts and sled recklessly down Spook Hill and pick icicles for candy. Impending storms were exciting because snow days were plentiful. Like I said, we know snow. So, before mom and dad finally broke down and started buying trees from the grocery store parking lot, the Oysti daughters and dad would meet up with Godfather Dennis and son Jay for a day of tree hunting.

Dad and Dennis would lead us through waist-deep drifts to find our trees and I swear we were out there for days. Watching our breath manifest in front of us, the quest to find “the one” was an exhausting process. After a while, I would secretly hope this might be the year we would opt for the runt of the forest, but that was never the case. Just about the time my waterproof Sorels were ready to give up, we would find the tree. Twice. We would find the perfect trees for both of our families and sawing would commence. Dragging the trees and leaving needles behind us, we would retrace our plowed trail back to the truck. Because we’d already been that way once, the hike was easier heading for home.

Jesus’ 33 years on earth were like a great trek through deep U.P. snow. The work and sacrifice He put forth ahead of us makes our journey toward Home less primitive. So, with noses red and runny from the bitter cold, we’d walk in the house smelling of spruce and crisp air. Our dads would warm up in the sauna and the three of us would be called upstairs for hot chocolate and marshmallows. For me, that memory is recreated through the simple smell of a Christmas tree and my protests are wholly justified.

Prayer: God of the trees, Thank you for the ways in which you trigger rich memories because you are in all of them. Your creative handiwork is ours to take in and so we will, with eyes and hearts wide open. Bless us and our families now as we head into our day. Be with us when we are most exhausted and show us the plowed path home. Amen.

Friday, December 11

A Day of Breathing
Genesis 2:7

Clean. Bank. Launder. Sleep. Read. Travel. Shop. Eat. Organize. Cook. Bake. Iron. Drive. Talk. Sit. Walk. Decorate. Dream. Exercise. Listen. Craft. Facebook. Journal. De-clutter. Watch. Text. Write. Play. Sing. Call. Hope. Sip. Reminisce. Enjoy.

Each of these things is a part of my day of breathing, the day in between work and Sabbath, the day I cannot live without. For me, breathing day is usually Friday. I catch up on tasks, go grocery shopping and get lazy if I want to. It is the day that allows me to recharge and rebalance without guilt. I want to invite you to take a breathing day with me today. I understand it may not be the best time or even possible to take an entire day, but at least take a breathing hour. Do what you enjoy, what comes natural to you, what makes you feel accomplished, what brings you peace, what produces balance. Breathe. And once you are breathing again, share it with someone else. Nothing makes you feel more alive than knowing you are not alone.

Prayer: God who breathed life into us, We need the time and energy today just to breathe. As we move throughout our day, God, let our spirits be renewed and revitalized. Amen.

Saturday, December 12

Marvelous Light

By now, I am fairly certain you’ve read quite enough of my thoughts and experiences, so I’d like to offer a reprieve. It is in the nature of a youth worker to create interactive experiences so that kids with different learning styles are able to grab hold of an idea in multiple fashions. So, if you do not mind, I would like to hint at that today and bring you back to a more child-like way of experiencing the God of Christmas. You’re going to need a few things for today’s devotion, so I’ll give you a minute to collect them:
Soft music (if it will not distract you)
Your Bible
A journal/piece of paper and a pen/pencil
A candle and a match/lighter
Now that you have collected the things necessary for your day’s retreat, find a quiet, comfortable space to spend this time. Be present here for a moment and read on.

One basic way to connect with God, even in the mundane, and sometimes insane, moments of the day, is to use breath prayer. As you inhale, say, “God of light,” to yourself and on the exhale say, “shine in me.” Practice for a few minutes. Notice the way you relax as you repeat the words over and over.

Once you have found an easy rhythm of breath, light your candle. Use it as a symbol of Christ’s presence and warmth. If there are people or situations on your heart, use this time to intercede on their behalf. Be refreshed knowing God has heard your plea.

Read the following Scripture references twice. The first time through, read like you normally would, at a quick tempo. The second time, read with deliberate knowledge that each passage is about the Light that lives in you.
1 Peter 2:9
1 John 1:5-7
John 8:12

Take out your journal and pen and respond to the following questions. Be honest. No one else will see your thoughts. What is your favorite source of light (i.e.: sun, light bulb, glow stick, flashlight, flame, etc.) and why? God has created light for us to use and enjoy, so how do we still experience darkness, the lack of Light? Where, on your insides, does God’s light need to shine this Christmas Season?

Conclude with the breath prayer above and enjoy the glow of your candle. My prayer is that you have encountered the greatest attributes of God this week. May your Christmastime be idyllic, treasured, moving and thought-provoking. Shine on, friends. Merry Christmas!

Have time for a little more? Take an extra step and go to www.needtobreathe.net and watch the “Shine On” video. Then go do it!