Katdish.net

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“It just doesn’t feel like Christmastime.”

A sentiment I’ve heard more than a few times this year. Maybe it’s the economy or all the bad news coming out of Washington. Maybe it’s too much political correctness run amok.

I’ve noticed fewer and fewer people wishing each other a Merry Christmas these days, and when I wish someone a Merry Christmas, their response is often a surprised, “Oh. Merry Christmas to you, too.”

It’s certainly not a recent phenomenon. This time of year is filled with sadness and longing for many people for all kinds or reasons. Take Henry Wadsworth Longfellow for example. The tragic death of his wife and his son being severely injured in a Civil War battle left little for him to be merry and bright about. He poured out his despair in a poem entitled Christmas Bells on Christmas Day, 1863.

So, if you’re not feeling much of the Christmas spirit, take heart. Know that you’re not alone and know that there is still hope to be found.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Till, ringing singing, on its way,

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

The above is a very amaturish video of my daughter’s fifth grade choir performing at a local shopping mall on Monday. It was the second of the two concerts performed that day. The first was at a local nursing home. “The Christmas Song”, probably one of the most recognized songs of the season, was the last of 5 songs performed for the residents.

courtesy of google images

Since I had already attended an earlier performance at the school, I’ll admit that the audience garnered the lion’s share of my attention rather than the choir. The first four songs were either new holiday songs or versions of old classics rendered unrecognizable by new lyrics and melodies. The audience, in varying degrees of lucidity, sat quietly and most applauded politely in all the right places. Some dozed in their wheelchairs, some smiled through the entire performance while others sat with looks indifference on their faces.

That is, until that final song began. As young, unfamiliar voices sang those familiar words, I felt a shift in the room. A generation with a lifetime of Christmas memories ahead of them unknowingly conjuring up a lifetime of Christmases from generations past. I watched as faces formerly of rapt attention as well as those of indifference subtly changed and turned inward toward past Christmas memories–both bitter and sweet.

In those moments I found myself grateful to be in the in-between place. Looking back at my own memories both bitter and sweet, and looking forward with the hope of more of the latter than the former.

Strip the season of its festive decor and commercialism and it really is all about hope.

Hope born in a lowly manger on that very first Christmas day.

“Although it’s been said many times, many ways…Merry Christmas to you.”

image courtesy of photobucket.com

I’m standing in front of a wall at the Kluge Center, an offshoot of the University of Virginia’s Children’s Hospital. My family and I travel here every three months so the friendly doctors and nurses can do some unfriendly things, namely poking and prodding my daughter, Molly, to make sure her diabetes is still under control.

I’ve never been a fan of hospitals. They tend to be drab and dark and they have a smell that can only be described as suffering. But it’s refreshingly different here. As this facility is exclusively for children, there are bright colors and fish tanks and a huge playroom complete with a Helen, the nice lady who doles out to the patients construction paper, crayons, and plenty of oohs and aahs.

I’ve come to learn that sometimes you have to be a good actor in order to be a good father. You have to embellish from time to time. You have to sometimes convince your kids that some things are fun when they most definitely are not. Things like school. And broccoli. And coming here to get poked and prodded.

But Molly’s a trooper. She’s tough (like her old man) and also soft-hearted (also like her old man). She must live twenty-four hours a day with a disease that has no cure and can at a moment’s notice strike, but she also wears a perpetual smile and thinks God gave her diabetes so she can write books for diabetic children. Still, it’s not fair that my daughter has to suffer through this. Not to me. Not fair that her tiny arms are bruised by four shots a day and her fingers pocked by the scars of glucose checks.

The sound of her laughter turns my head. She and Will are playing in the big plastic castle that is part of the playroom. She’s the princess in distress, and he’s the knight trying to save her from the dragons. My job usually–saving her from the dragons. But the ones I’m protecting her from are real.

I go back to studying the wall. Which, as it turns out, is really a window. But the view of the grounds and the railroad tracks across the street has been replaced by a better one. Taped to the window is artwork from the tiny patients who pass through here every day, many of whom are afflicted with things far worse than my daughter’s broken pancreas. Though Molly’s diabetes is incurable (and let’s all pray that will change), it is manageable. Medical science has come a long way, and I at least have the comfort of knowing she can lead a somewhat normal life. For some of the children who colored these pictures, that’s not the case. And that makes staring at them much harder.

What kind of a world do we live in where children are stricken with disease and die? Where the most innocent of people suffer? It seems so unfair. So…wrong. We all have a right to live. A right to grow and learn and love, a right to create a life for ourselves and find our God-given purpose. But that’s just not going to happen for some of these children. What’s worse is that many of them realize this.

But I’m puzzled. Confused by the knowledge that though many of them know the realities of their lives, they are still joyful. These crayon-scribbled pieces of paper do not convey a sense of despair, but of joy. These are not obituaries, but love letters to life. Rainbows of every color shoot across the pages of many. Sunshine beams down on brightly greened grass. Flowers sprout and grow in fields of golden hues. Stick figures smile and laugh and hug.

These are pictures of lives embedded in eternal Spring.

Pictures drawn and colored by children who may be dying, but who are more alive than I am.

True, their innocence may be protecting them. Many can’t process what’s happening to them and don’t feel the need to question or blame. What they don’t know can’t hurt them.

A blessing, I think, in this case. To be ignorant of life and death.

And then I spot in the middle of the display a small sheet of paper. Written in pencil are the words of a twelve-year-old girl named Sarah. Words that make me question just how ignorant these children really are, and shame me with both a smile and a tear:

“The world is a beautiful place and everyone should shut up and enjoy it once in a while.”

Yes.

I’ve been updating my painting blog lately. Mostly because people keep asking me if I have a website, and if I gave them this one, I’m guessing my phone would pretty much quit ringing. Anyway, I have already scheduled several posts and am working on some more. One of my favorite nurseries is one I did for Grace Presbyterian Church. I painted three rooms, each with a different bible theme. I knew I wanted the infant nursery to have baby animals, so I decided to use Isaiah 11:6. I will post all the pictures next Sunday over on Stuff I Painted.

I must confess, prophetic scripture passages aren’t exactly my strength, and when I read this passage, I knew it would work for what I wanted to do in the nursery space, but I never really understood what the verse meant. It’s actually pretty cool. In the interest of context, here’s Isaiah 11: 1-9:

A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit. The Spirit of the LORD will rest on him—the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of power, the Spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the LORD – and he will delight in the fear of the LORD.

He will not judge by what he sees with his eyes, or decide by what he hears with his ears; but with righteousness he will judge the needy, with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth.

He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth; with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked. Righteousness will be his belt and faithfulness the sash around his waist.

The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.

The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox.

The infant will play near the hole of the cobra, and the young child put his hand into the viper’s nest. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea.

I love this scripture because rather than describing Jesus as coming from the Kingdom of David, it uses the more humble description of “the stump of Jesse”. It also tells me that there will come a time when wickedness and evil will be destroyed; that Love really does win.

Feel free to expound on the commentary of this portion of scripture in the comments section. I’d love to read your thoughts on it. Happy Sunday, y’all!

By your Side

Why are you striving these days
Why are you trying to earn grace
Why are you crying
Let me lift up your face
Just don’t turn away

Why are you looking for love
Why are you still searching as if I’m not enough
To where will you go child
Tell me where will you run
To where will you run

And I’ll be by your side
Wherever you fall
In the dead of night
Whenever you call
And please don’t fight
These hands that are holding you
My hands are holding you

Look at these hands and my side
They swallowed the grave on that night
When I drank the world’s sin
So I could carry you in

And give you life
I want to give you life

Cause I, I love you
I want you to know
That I, I love you
I’ll never let you go

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”