Blue Monday

This past Monday was Blue Monday – the (unscientifically) saddest, most depressing day of the year.

Blue Monday fell on the coldest day of the winter this year here: -34° C, with a windchill of -43° C.

Incidentally, it also fell on the anniversary of my first introduction to Mortality. I remember the day, the supper, when the phone call came that my beloved Grandma had died, suddenly and unexpectedly. I was five. Death smelled blue, pale blue.

It seems to me that Mortality has been skulking around this winter, flashing it's black and ugly coat.

Earlier this winter, I was at the funeral of an older gentleman, the church filled with friends and family, children, grandchildren, great-grand children accumulated over many well-lived years.

A few short weeks later, I attended the funeral of a childhood friend who died suddenly and unexpectedly. It was heart-wrenching to see her grieving parents, her little motherless children, sitting bewildered in the front row.

The evening before Blue Monday, we were invited over for supper with a kind older lady, who told us of her son who had been killed in a vehicle accident many years ago. He had been five at the time. Had he lived, he would have been the same age as me.

I have too many friends and acquaintances my age who are being compelled to look Mortality in the face because of illness and disease. And this uncomfortably compels me to look at Mortality out of the corner of my eye. I thought this was a state for old people, for people twice my age, not for me.

It just reminds me again and again that one doesn't know how much time one has in this life. It may be long, it may be short. One may get some forewarning as to the nearness of the end, or the end may pounce suddenly and unexpectedly. But one is assured of an end; it is only the how and when that are unknown.

Which makes the how of living the life one has that much more critical, important, momentous. To value the moments and the days. To cherish relationships, to make the most of opportunities, to pursue dreams. To forgive and be forgiven. To do good and not harm. To live in a way that is worthy of the gift of life that one has been given.

Above all else, guard your heart,

for it is the well-spring of life.

Proverbs 4:23

Inspiration, courtesy of Fancy Nancy

It seems to me it must be a rare glittery, pink-and-purple-y six-year-old girl who's not inspired by Fancy Nancy.

My daughter got some money at Christmas to buy herself a book, and she chose a set of four Fancy Nancy books. She had looked at all of them, but I read the first one to her on Saturday. It was called, Fancy Nancy Ooh La La! It's Beauty Day.  In this book, Fancy Nancy sets up a spa in her backyard; her client is her mom. When I was done reading it, my daughter and I agreed that setting up a spa would be a fun thing to do. So, my daughter immediately set about collecting the necessary items for our own personal spa in the playroom: brushes, a chair, a towel, nail polish, of course, and a few other things.

Right after lunch, the spa was ready for the grand opening. Except, contrary to the book, in our spa, the mother was the aesthetician and the daughter was the client (I wonder how that happened?). We had the book on hand so we could follow all the steps accurately.

We decided to skip the squashed banana-and-honey face mask outlined on the “Fantastique Face Mask” page and proceeded to the next step, the “Marvelous Manicure.”  I massaged the client's hands and applied hand lotion. I also snuck in the weekly chore of nail cleaning and clipping (not listed in the book!), which is so much more agreeable when one is in a spa than when one is half asleep and ready for bed. There was a surprising lack of resistance to this activity in this particular venue! I might have to keep that in mind for future reference.... And of course, after studying the instructions carefully, I applied the pre-selected nail polish.  

Then, on to the “Perfectly Posh Pedicure.” The book called for a “soothing sea salt foot soak” that included sea salt, a squeezed lemon and a tub filled with warm water and marbles. We had no sea salt, so we made do with coarse salt; we had no lemons or even lemon juice, so we added a drop of vanilla; a large bowl was hauled out of storage; and the marbles were procured from a generous older brother. After soaking my client's feet in the tub, I also massaged her feet, clipped her nails, and applied lotion and nail polish.

Lastly, were the cosmetics section (the powders made her cough) and "The Coiffure."  This, like the nail clipping, also has varying effects depending upon the attitude and timing of the beautician. Gentle combing and braiding while sitting in the afternoon sun on a lazy Saturday afternoon is quite a different experience than trying to drag a brush through tangly hair quick before the bus comes on a Monday morning! 

We had a lovely time at the spa, my daughter and I. We even traded roles for a bit at the end, and it felt glorious.

As I was massaging her hands, my daughter had remarked how nice it felt, so nice that it kind of tickled. I knew exactly what she was talking about. She noted, too, how when she tickled herself, it never really tickled, and why was that? Why did it have to be someone else doing it to you to make it feel so nice, so much better?

I thought about her comment later and about what I hope my daughter will eventually learn for herself. Will she think she always needs to be spa-perfect to be acceptable? Too often we as girls, as women, or perhaps as humans, feel the need to drum up some reason as to why we are acceptable or to prove that we are valuable – to others, to ourselves. And yet it's like tickling: it just doesn't have the same effect when you try to affirm your own worth yourself. It always falls a little flat. Though I struggle in this area myself, I want my daughter to know that we always have access to that Someone Else who accepts us now as we are, who sees us as beautiful – spa or no spa, who gives us value.  We only need to open our hearts to accept the immeasurable love of God.

The Lord your God is with you;

he is mighty to save.

He will take great delight in you,

he will quiet you with his love,

he will rejoice over you with singing.

Zephaniah 3:17

Owl

Greyness is just beginning to creep along the eastern horizon and steal between the black winter hills as the Great Horned owl rouses himself from his perch on the low oak tree one last time for the night. Perhaps with daylight dawning, some of the animal kingdom will begin to stir and provide him with a meal.

The owl's eyes, brilliantly suited to hunting in the dark, glow yellow. His majestic wings lift him effortlessly into the clear icy night sky. He opens his powerful beak, built to tear limbs from the bodies of prey, to call one last time that distinctive “whoo-hoo-oo” before catching an up-draft and soaring into the breeze.

From his height above the snow-covered hill, the owl catches sight of a slight movement down below – a hare cautiously making its way along the relative safety of a row of trees between two fields. Suddenly, the owl is plummeting silently to the earth, it's sharp, weapon-like talons extended, ready to snag and lift the animal into the air, the rabbit still unaware of the imminent danger.

It is really just a little thing, hardly more than a centimeter across, a tiny bit of metal wire, twisted around itself, the barbed wire that catches the owl in mid-flight. It's almost inconceivable that such an insignificant thing would stop such a powerful creature, a creature with such strength and prowess.

Yet, the owl hangs, wings spread wide. It struggles valiantly to get away, despite the searing pain. But it's majestic wings are no match for the barbed wire; its powerful beak is impotent against a foe it cannot reach; its weapon-like talons cannot snag that which has snagged the owl.

In the cold, with no way to release itself, the owl succumbs to its own inevitable death as the sun breaks over the horizon and fills the sky with vibrant reds and pinks.

Short hours later, the man emerges from the woods into the clearing of the fields, fills his lungs with the frozen air. He notices the strange form, unmoving, inches above the snow, and investigates.

Had he arrived earlier, would the owl have let the man release him and save him from certain death? Owls have been known to attack humans, and any animal desperate for life can be dangerous to its rescuer. The man untangles the owl's feathers from the barbed-wire fence and carries the frozen body home. A great creature felled by so small a thing. A tragedy.

And us? When we get snagged on the barbed-wire of sin, are we not as powerless to rescue ourselves? Are we willing to acknowledge our insufficiency to save ourselves, to submit to the only One who can release us from our bondage? Are we prepared to allow ourselves to be disentangled from death - death of relationships, of a family bond, death of a creative spirit, of a future, death of love, of hope – to accept life from the One who comes along just in time?

             For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in

                                      Jesus Christ our Lord.

                                                               Romans 6:23

            We have escaped like a bird,

                   out of the fowler's snare;

            the snare has been broken,

                   and we have escaped.

            Our help is in the name of the Lord,

                   the Maker of heaven and earth.

                                                               Psalm 124:7-8

One of my favorite songs.  I love this version by Owl City:

For those for whom it matters, my goal this year is to post to my blog on Thursdays.

A Life Filled With Good Things

On the windowsill above my kitchen sink, there sits a decorative tin box that holds and displays little cards with Bible verses on them. I spent all $13.47 of my income tax return on it a number of years ago.

This morning, I took out a new verse to display just before I began doing the dishes.

My initial thought was, what a delightful and true way to start the new year! Here I was doing dishes because we had food to eat; I could see my three beautiful, healthy children outside playing in the snow together; my husband was already off working at his job; I had just spent the last week warmly surrounded by extended family, celebrating Christmas. I was anticipating getting the household back to normal after several weeks of decorating, shopping, gift-giving, and attending Christmas events. My life is filled with good things!

My second impulse was to feel “bad.”  Here I was, feeling contented with my happy life, getting ready to go back to “normal” and yet how many people in this world, in my own community, in my own circle of acquaintances, wouldn't love to go back to “normal” but cannot? People who are facing life without a loved one, people whose illnesses have not yet been healed, whose broken relationships have not yet been mended, whose problems have not yet been solved? How could I be happy when all these others are facing heart-rending challenges or losses?

And yet...

Ann Voskamp writes in her book, One Thousand Gifts:

                    How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is

                    joy that saves us? Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the

                    suffering doesn't rescue the suffering. The converse does. The

                    brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and

                    all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and dis-

                    cover joy even in the here and now, they are agents of change

                    who bring fullest Light to all the world. (p. 58, emphasis mine)

I will always be able to find someone who is worse off than me and also someone who is better off than me. I could spend my life feeling badly for the suffering or feeling envious of the wealthy. This is a seriously tempting option, except that I have recently been reminded again that sometimes it is the suffering who are rich and the wealthy who are suffering.

As ridiculous as it sounds, I sometimes feel like I should be cautious about being too happy, like I may use up my life quota of happiness too soon and just be left with sorrow. Or that being thankful for what I have means I am uncaring towards those who have to live without. However, I am going to choose instead to spend my life in gratitude for what I have right now and trust that God will grant me the grace I need when I am the one suffering, and a spirit of generosity when I am the one with abundance. So here's to a year full of joy and gratitude, grace and generosity! Happy 2013!