Merry, Merry Christmas

Make Peace.

See you in January.

Feelings or lack thereof

I had the strangest dream last night. It involved old friends, some sad news, and the name of an old infomercial product that evaded me throughout the dream – one that I intend to Google later today.

Funny, though, I wasn’t sad about the sad news. The others weren’t over-wrought, mind you, but they showed decent sorrow. Me? Not a bone of decent sorrow in me.

The person that had died (yes, it was a death scene) was someone I know, but just a casual acquaintance. People that I know well know her – so I am kind of connected through mutual knowing, but not by common experience or time spent in friendship.

When I woke up, I took some time to marvel at my lack of feeling. Someone had died, after all, and her death had affected those I love – even if it hadn’t really affected me. It was just a dream, but I wondered what was wrong with my heart.

The feeling reminds me of how I can see stories on the news, or hear truths about the living conditions of people around the world, and somehow stay disconnected. Someone once told me that we can’t possibly take it all in or we’d be emotional wrecks, but I think it should disturb us that things don’t disturb us.

So, as I brushed my teeth this morning, I watched the water come on and prayed for the millions in refuge camps who have no access to clean water. I didn’t stand there and feel lucky or blessed. No, I felt the inequity. I felt the responsibility to act.

Look at your water today and ask God for a heart like His.

O mummy dear

J.J. has been working on a project for the Ancient Egyptian Fair at his school today. You can see from the pictures, that he made a mummy. He also wrote a paper entitled, “Ancient Egyptian Mummification.” He was never one for flowery titles like his mother.

As I edited his paper for him, I learned so many fascinating things. For instance, I knew that the Egyptian embalmers removed the internal organs and put them in canopic jars, but I did not know that they left the heart in the body because they believed it to be the center of feeling and the essence of the person. Apparently, a person was going to need his or her heart immediately in the after-life, so nobody dared take it out.

The brain, however, was a different story. A long spike was pushed up the nose of the corpse, the brain was smashed, and then removed with the spike. Often times, the brain was simply thrown away because it was considered generally unimportant.

Now, we know that our brains are important, but it got me thinking.

How many times have I let my “better judgment” be an obstacle to acting on a compassionate impulse? Or how frequently do I let fear undermine an empathetic urge? Often times, thinking things through has proved my downfall – and at other times, impulse has landed me in a shipload of trouble.

Perhaps there are legitimate reasons to throw the brain away.

Peace

"True peace is not just freedom from fear, but freedom from want."

President Barack Obama when accepting the Nobel Peace Prize today.

Me and Karl

Growing up in the good ol’ US of A, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Communism was a great evil that needed to be eradicated from the face of the Earth. The Cold War was a pressing necessity, and when the Berlin Wall fell, I had the same sense of pride and eagerly participated in the “Go Capitalism!” pep rally like everyone else.

Now, I think I am a Communist – or a Marxist at the very least.

I spent one week on a cruise ship. What I observed in the dining room was enough to make me rethink the whole world, probably because the whole world was around me.

The wait staff represented 67 different countries. Our waiters were from the Philippines and Jamaica respectively – Ricky and Andre were their names. They were very hard workers, and during the first meal I decided to learn about them.

Both had families back in their countries that they were away from for 6 months at a time. Andre would disembark once a week, on Wednesdays, and jog to his kids’ school to check up on them briefly before rushing back. Both spoke multiple languages (far more than the one that I can barely use properly) and they were intelligent and fascinating men.

On Day 2, I asked them why they do this job. Ricky smiled thoughtfully and essentially explained that his sacrifice provided opportunities for his children that they would otherwise miss out on.

I began to pick up my own dishes by Day 3 – uncomfortable with being served in this way. Unless we are disabled, putting our own napkin on our laps should be a no brainer also.

There was a group at a table near us that continued to attract my attention. Using my keen observation skills, I determined that they had saved for quite a while for this trip. I will not go into further descriptive detail, but just know that they were no multi-millionaires.

The way they treated the wait staff, however, was appalling. They acted as if they were the royal family (actually, the royal family has far better manners) and were so demanding. They each ordered multiple entrees every night, sometimes just having a single bite, and wasted an obscene amount of food. You realize, I suppose, that I am really holding back on these folks trying to exercise grace – but it isn’t easy!!

They felt like someone owed them something. I’m not sure why, but they were fine upstanding examples of why the world hates Americans.

I started to wonder what Ricky and Andre thought. By Day 5, I was brave enough to ask.

“Oh, Wendy,” Ricky said with a smile, “there are people like that all over the world. Unfortunately, they all vacation here.” We both laughed.

As I ponder social inequities, I recognize that they have caused both problems – both Ricky being far from his family and people trying to feel important and acting like jerks. I hear the argument that we provide jobs and income and it all makes the world go round, but somehow somewhere something is terribly wrong.

I am not escaping the hypocrisy of my own presence there. Out of guilt and appreciation, I left them a huge tip. Did I help or hinder?

I’m not really a Communist. No, I am in favor of a dictatorship – a benevolent one where God is in charge. I wonder what that would look like?

Onward

We talked abouth THIS ARTICLE at church yesterday. If you don't have time to read it, essentially a group of Christians, calling themselves the "Christian Army," marched in a town not too far from where I live in order to protest the removal of the nativity scene in the town square.

I have always been intrigued by our use of certain terms. Even that hymn that says, "Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war..." was one that I just stood and let everyone sing around me.

No need to be militant about nativity scenes. If you want them that badly, put them up in your own yard. Instead, be just as intentional about love. Use your energy differently.

As Pastor Jim said yesterday, set an injustice straight this season - a real injustice where people are suffering and unheard.

Or maybe take that free ham you won with your supermarket points and hang it on someone's door knob - anonymously. Lots of people are struggling financially this year.

Last week, the principal at my son's school said something intriguing to him. He said, "You lead by doing, not by telling."

Amen.

Let's all put our weapons down this year.

And BINGO was his NAME-O

I have a very conservative heritage. There were no playing cards allowed in my grandmother’s house, and my parents did not allow dancing at my wedding. Lest you find them prudish, they are great people who are lavish with their love, and they truly felt like there were some temptations that were better avoided.

On my honeymoon, I met a 73 year old Jewish woman from Florida named Myra. She and her husband had recently sold the chain of discount liquor stores that they owned, and so they now took cruises several times a year in their retirement. I met her on the pool deck on the first day.

We became fast friends, and later that afternoon, Myra invited me to go play bingo on a lower deck. I had NEVER played bingo before, as it was considered gambling in my home, but I was a grown and married woman now, AND the idea was intriguing, so I tagged along.

It is now 17 years later, and even though I have managed to resist the temptation to play every Tuesday night at the local Catholic church, I must admit I became obsessed with winning bingo on that trip. I never missed a chance to play (neither did Myra) but I chalked my persistence up to the fact that I needed a break from the Caribbean sun by the time 4:00 pm bingo rolled around.

Since I am in confession mode, I will tell you that every vacation that I go on, if there is bingo to be played, I participate. I even dragged my children into the obsessive pit last week with me.

I have probably played a total of 27 games of bingo in my life. Considering I have lived approximately 15,330 days, that is pretty insignificant, but in all that time, I have NEVER won. Every game I am convinced that I will win, but I never do.

We traveled with another family on our vacation last week, and my husband had warned them ahead of time about my vacation bingo addiction which they found very amusing. The first evening of our trip, they tagged along, much as I had done with Myra years ago. Would you believe that their 9 year-old daughter won the $500 first night jackpot?? No kidding.

To make matters worse, her mother (my friend) won $98 the next night AND won a free string ray excursion. We had already chosen that particular excursion, so the ship happily refunded her pre-payment as part of her winnings.

I already suspected, before the trip, that I was unlucky, but I could no longer ignore the cosmic confirmation of my unluckiness anymore.

So, because of my background, I was tempted to wonder if God kept me from winning. I already have that natural guilt-o-meter built in, but to assume that God would intervene in a bingo match to teach me a lesson is an interesting perspective, isn’t it? Does God even care about bingo? Probably not. Does God care about how I use the money and resources that He has given me? Definitely.

Which, of course, brings me to my point. I think sometimes, in our efforts to always do right, we can consider God to be a cosmic kill joy or we imagine that He would thwart our fun. I don’t think God was terribly upset about bingo, but I know He wants me to think about the time and money I was wasting – and, really, for what?

It’s a great life question really – one that we should ask before playing bingo or performing brain surgery…

For what?

Myra lived quite a few more years after my honeymoon, and we exchanged Hanukkah/Christmas cards every year until she died. Wonder what she’s doing now every day at 4:00 pm.

Let's face it

While I was on vacation, I won a free facial. Let me try to explain the problem with that.

I have RIDICULOUSLY sensitive skin. Even very expensive, all-natural products bother my face, and so I walk around with the complexion of Winston Churchill most of the time.

Never one to pass up on FREE, however, I decided to explain to the woman at the salon about my ever present ruddy situation – thinking that she may have some helpful hints to help me.

I was treated like royalty upon entering the place, handed a refreshing glass of mint water, and invited to wait in a sound proof room that was pumping in classical music. Delightful.

A gorgeous woman from South Africa then came to collect me, and take me to a treatment room. The room was immaculate, quiet and painted in soothing colors. I marveled at my good fortune, sat on the treatment table, and waited to begin.

The gorgeous woman was named Chane (SHANAY). We spoke at length about my hyper-sensitivity problem, and she nodded with confidence. I was in good hands.

As the facial began, I was invited to lie down upon a table and was covered in warm blankets. Irish flute music was playing, and the lights were dimmed. All the creams and clays smelled so great, and I almost fell asleep as Chane wiped and examined and pampered.

Afterwards, I sat back up and took a moment to wake up. Dear Chane was smiling at me and asked if I was ready for “a little chat.” Sure, I thought, why not? Everything still smelled great.

Suddenly Chane’s face turned grim. Whatever the news, it wasn’t good.

“Your face is in serious trouble,” was how she began. “You seem like such a lovely person, why wear a face that doesn’t reveal your beauty?”

PAUSE: At this point in our story, I was feeling more disbelief than actual hurt. I took a quick look around the serene room for the Candid Camera.

Chane went on, “The circulation around your eyes is very poor. You obvious laugh a lot, because your laugh lines are frighteningly deep. And, honestly, I would like you to see our Botox specialist. It’s a free consultation, and I really think it would help solve many of your issues.”

BOTOX is such a fascinating word, isn’t it? It’s on par with CELLULITE and GIRDLE and GRAVITY.

After more scary facial revelations, Chane handed me a paper with all her recommendations written in tidy handwriting. If I had purchased all of her suggested products (some for everyday, some for monthly use and some quarterly) I would have spent $ 2,138 on face creams. I think I added a quarter inch to my laugh lines just then as I imagined my husband’s face when I explained the bill.

All of a sudden, though, right there on the table, it wasn't funny. I had the most grippingly sad moment for women who actually spend their time trying to be younger. Someone must follow all these instructions or they wouldn’t exist, right? I suddenly felt very weighted in the light room, and if there are sadness lines, I’m sure I started on them. Preying on insecurity, beauty experts clean out our wallets and our sense of self.

Sure, I want to look nice – who doesn’t? But there is something deeply troubling about that much self-focus.

I smiled and thanked Chane profusely for her time and attention. I assured her that the whole experience was terribly relaxing, but went on to explain that I love my lines. I laugh out loud freely and often, and I guess it shows.

I think it’s worth it to mention that the products destroyed my skin. Later that evening, I could feel the burning and tightness beginning. Days later, I am currently walking around with huge red and scaly patches all over my face, and Winston Churchill is actually prettier than me right now.

Prettier. Not happier.