Tag Archives: christmas

Uncategorized

The Working Title Is…Lessons of the Journey

I can’t remember the last time I was more excited about an invitation. 

It’s been years since I’ve experienced live theatre. And I’ve never received a handwritten invite to a production before!

So, yes, I’ve been counting down the days until Chicago’s St. Andrew Elementary Second Grade production of Arthur’s Christmas. I’m on pins and needles anticipating the directorial debut of my favorite thespian, Clare Parks.

At some point, I thought to myself, “Might be fun to take the train!”  And it was, until just outside of the Battle Creek station when we came to a screeching halt.

It’s actually left me quite nostalgic. In August 2003, Pat and I surprised our girls with a train trip to Chicago, and somewhere between the Royal Oak and Detroit stations, the major northeast blackout happened, leaving us trapped on the train for more than 12 hours.

So no big whoop that this has been my view for the past three hours.

At least the club car is attached.  We didn’t even have that for the first five hours in 2003! I remember feeling very anxious back then…we were unsure of the cause of the blackout, and the events of September 11th were still a very recent memory.

I don’t know what word describes how I’m feeling right now.

Across the aisle from me are an adult woman and her physically disabled father.  She hasn’t stopped yelling at him since the train stopped. [Edited transcript] “This always happens when I ride with you! I should have never said yes to this trip.”

Now, don’t get me wrong…I’m a huge fan of a well-placed expletive, but the way this woman is speaking to her father has the entire train car cringing.  She is unrelenting in profane complaints and double negatives. 

Her single act of kindness came when her dad asked her to reach down his computer.  He pulled up some website that showed real-time passenger and freight train activity. He tried to point out the trouble spot, but she quickly and decisively shut him up.

Not long after, I got caught staring in his direction. We shared a smile behind masks and he said, “I like to track the trains.”  As his daughter was (NO LIE) busy brushing her hair in the seat next to him, I said, “My brother is a huge train fan too, I get it.”  As he started to point out what was on his screen, the conductor came on the loudspeaker to explain the reason for the delay was a police situation on the tracks just outside of Kalamazoo. Minutes later when walking through our car, the conductor told my train-loving neighbor that this was the third suicide in the last ten days along this route.

I’ve already painted a horrible, albeit accurate, picture of his daughter so I will refrain from sharing her disgusting comments that followed.

Equal to my love of a well place curse word is my love of a good fight…one of words, mind you, and I am gearing up to put this bitch in her place.

My head is spinning and my internal voice has finally drowned out hers. But as my planned oratory assault reaches epic, launch-ready levels, deep emotion renders me mute.

I would give anything to be trapped on a train with my Dad. 

I would give anything to travel back in time…anxious and snackless…to be trapped on a train with my tiny girls who fell asleep in our laps while Pat and I held hands. 

I would give anything to hold Pat’s hand.

Three suicides in ten days along this one train route?  My God.

I would give anything to miraculously intervene in those troubled lives and help each person find the words to ask for help.

I would give anything to comfort the family members whose hearts are broken and who will face the horror of an empty chair this Christmas.

I would give anything to bring peace—of mind, heart, soul and spirit—to friend and stranger alike.

We started moving a bit ago. As my neighbors stood up to disembark at Battle Creek, I stood too. Toe to toe, I stared right into that woman’s eyes and said in a whimper, “Hope your day gets better.”  And in the true spirit of the season she said, “Jesus Christ, I need a f*in cigarette.”

The lesson of this journey has me counting my blessings, cherishing life, and praying for peace in the hearts of all. 

Yes, all.  Even the foul-mouth, grammatically deficient, wickedly unsanitary, public transportation-dissing, heartbreakingly paternal-alienating monsters of our world. Clearly, they are struggling with something too. 

May peace and joy surround everyone this Christmas.

kmp

xoxo

Standard
christmas, faith, family, grief and loss, hope, Inspiration, Uncategorized

The Working Title Is…I Killed Baby Jesus

It started innocently enough.

I was meandering through a store’s Christmas section when my eye was drawn to the most unique crèche. The stable/manger was crafted from beautiful blonde wood and the nativity figurines (also blonde, but why start now with historical accuracy) had this child-like, almost cartoonish, appearance to them.

As I picked it up for a closer look, it became quickly apparent that these were two separate pieces. And by “quickly apparent,” I more specifically mean that the nativity scene went flying through the air, careening toward the concrete industrial floor and ultimately smashing into a thousand tiny pieces.

The whole thing unfolded in slow motion before me. In fact, I did a mini “fly through the air” move to reach out and grab it, all the while yelling, “Noooooooooo!” (Think Marty McFly watching Doc being shot by the Libyans.)

I kneeled on the floor in utter disbelief. It was a nativity bloodbath. I quickly turned the sheep away so they didn’t have to witness their decapitated shepherd’s noggin bouncing down aisle four.

My palms started to sweat as I gathered up the pieces. Oh, dear God, I wondered what negative karma would come from such an indiscriminate and brutal slaughter of the Holy Family? What bad juju could this Bethlehem massacre carry? And who is monitoring the store security camera and laughing at my expense right now? I sucked in my gut knowing this could be on YouTube before I even left the store.

As I gathered the sacred chards and anticipated a heavenly lightning strike, I texted a confession to my kids. My daughter Maddie hilariously analyzed the forensic evidence.

 

She was right. Looking past their mangled bodies, I saw they each shared a look of shock, as if they knew they would meet their demise in such a dramatic fashion.

I sullenly approached the register and explained to the cashier what happened. While offering to pay for the irreparably damaged goods, I launched into a whole soliloquy about the potential consequences on my afterlife, but she interrupted, saying, “It’s ok, ma’am, I’ll just add it to our damaged inventory.”

I sat in the car for a bit, trying to shake the feeling of impending doom while still laughing at “Y’all still want this myrrh?”

I pondered the duality of emotion this work of art elicited. The artist’s original motivation for having everyone admire the baby Jesus with such a look of astonishment or surprise was beautiful. How true it is for people of faith to look to the promise of salvation that was born of a tiny baby and say, “Oooh.”

And after my murderous actions, that same facial expression yields a totally different, yet profound meaning. How often, when we feel as though our lives have been broken into a million tiny pieces, do we exclaim a much different, “Oooh.”

And that is how a “cleanup in aisle four” reminded me of the foundation of my faith life and the promise of Advent.

Life can be messy. And painful. And exhausting.

And extraordinary. And blissful. And carefree.

During this holiday season, it is imperative that we remind ourselves that life is all of these things to all people…especially within the depths of our own hearts.

My faith provides a balance that moves me to focus on the untold promise and potential life holds as represented by the tiny baby Jesus. And it strengthens me through the realization that I will have my share of Good Fridays…times of loss and brokenness.  My faith promises me that whether my “Oooh” is one of joy or sorrow, I am not alone.

Today, my prayer is for everyone feeling shattered and defeated and forlorn. My hope is that you can find strength in the promise of Advent…that the candles of faith, hope, love and peace bring a transformative “Oooh” into your heart and a confidence that light will follow this darkness.

Open your heart to gather strength from those who love you…those in heaven and on Earth. Find comfort through scripture, “Do not fear: I am with you; do not be anxious: I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you.” (Isaiah 41:10)

You are not alone. And you are loved.

“Oooh.”

kmp

 

 

Standard