Tidings of Comfort and Joy

I'm listening to Pandora's "Classical Christmas" station and making an unusual Christmas gift list this morning - a list of gifts I will not actually buy, since the people I'm scheming for are in heaven and presumably not even Amazon delivery droids can reach them.

Every year since my dad died in 2001, and now for both my mom and my dad, I've indulged in a glimmer of bittersweet fantasy by making an imaginary Christmas gift list for them. My "What I Wish I Could Give my Mom and Dad This Year" list. This year, since I've pushed myself out of my grief comfort zone by putting up a Christmas tree for the first time since Mom died, I decided to step it up a notch and make a blog list. With pictures! Because hey, maybe someone out there still needs some gift ideas! But mostly, because I don't remember any of the things I imagined giving to them any of those years, and I want to remember. Remembering is all we have.

And while I may be blinking at the computer through water-welled eye lids, this little exercise actually does bring me both Comfort and Joy.

Here are some things I would get my mom this year:

1. A beautiful rich purple Kantha blanket from the awesome Hand and Cloth organization.
Mom loves purple, hand-made anything, and I'm sure she would be all about helping women artisans.

Hand and Cloth blankets are hand stitched in Bangladesh by women who are vulnerable to exploitation. By providing them dignified work, Hand and Cloth offers opportunities for them to earn a living and provide for their children. From the Hand and Cloth website: "As each textile is handmade for Hand & Cloth by a woman, our prayer is that each woman would come to know that she too is handmade by God. "

Perfect. Gift.

2. The Josh Groban CD that came out this year. You can't help who you love, and mom LOVED Josh.



3. The "Against All Grain" Cookbook. I have a feeling it would stress her out to try to cook and bake for me now that I have all these stupid food issues. I'd accessorize it with a stash of the most-used alternative flours (Coconut, Almond, Tapioca, etc). Maybe I'd even do it up cutely like in "Stranger than Fiction"... "I brought you flours."



4. A picture of our little family.

I'll even be nice and give her one where Les and I are actually in focus, and not just the blurry background to an Auggie portrait.

And here are some things I'd get my dad.

Dad is a little harder to shop for. He would insist that he doesn't need anything. Ever. Well, too bad for him. 

1. Bear: Spirit of the Wild 

One of those admittedly rare instances where Instagram was a practical help. I follow National Geographic on IG (If you don't - drop everything and do it now. Incredible photos and stories). Anyway, the moment I saw pictures and posts about this book, I thought "Dad would LOVE that!".

2. Between Heaven and Mirth - Why Joy, Humor, and Laughter Are at the Heart of the Spiritual Life. 

I read Fr. James Martin, SJ's book "The Jesuit Guide to Almost Everything" and I was smitten. He's funny, warm, and Jesus-filled. He's also the "Official Chaplain of the Colbert Nation". I dearly dearly wish I could watch the Colbert Report with my dad. I can almost hear his snort-laugh-cough just thinking about it. Dad loved a good laugh, and despite years of poor health, his irreverent sense of humor rarely wavered. 

* Note: Since this is an imaginary list, I'm going to make it up as though dad's eyes are still strong enough to read a book. Otherwise, yes, I'd be getting this one as an audio book.

3. A recording of my mom singing Christmas hymns.

I wish wish WISH I had this in real life. It would be my most prized possession. But since this is a pretend list, I'll pretend that I have it and I'd make a copy for dad. I remember always looking at his face as mom sang a solo in church - O Holy Night, or a section of The Messiah. The look of pure adoring love and pride is stitched delicately onto my heart. 

4. A donation to World Vision's Clean Water Fund

Hey! I can actually DO this one. I'm on it. 

So that's my imaginary Christmas list. I feel something akin to relief and bliss having typed it up to share. To be honest, I'm always wobbling on that line between "Don't hide your grief all the time" and "Don't be a Debbie Downer". But somehow when the holidays roll around, it feels like there is this little social worm hole that opens up and there are articles and blog posts and facebook statuses that let the cat out of the bag: People are hurting, and grieving, and muddling their way through loss all the time, and at the holidays, sometimes that pain draws sharper and more intense. And let's just come out and say it. Joy and pain mingle bittersweetly. 

But here's the kicker. At Christmas, we remember that God Came Near. And he came to bind up the brokenhearted. And to wipe every tear from their eyes. Sometimes, He sends His people out to do the binding and the wiping, even while we're still feeling a bit broken down ourselves. I'm not actually going to be able to give my parents these presents, but their example of loving their neighbors inspires me to get off my butt and GIVE and LOVE, even when it feels awkward or over-the-top. 

Concocting some Over the Top surprises would have been right up mom and dad's alley. 

And Heaven and Nature Sing

That's a little clip-on bird ornament, in case you're scratching your head.

I'm gonna be honest here. Christmas is not all candy canes and mistletoe for me. It is hard. I miss my mom in every carol, every cookie we don't bake together, every mint M&M that I will never dig greedily from the candy dish on the sofa table when I come into her cider-scented house. In fact, this is the first Christmas in the four without her that I have even bothered to decorate beyond a tiny table-top tree.

But we're staying in Raleigh this Christmas, and I decided I was ready to make our own family traditions. When we returned to NC after Thanksgiving, we packed up the car with the ornaments and stockings and lights and tree stand that we had packed away at Les's parents' house. So I had the loot. There was just one problem: No space for a tree.

Ok, actually, there were 2 problems. No space for a tree, AND I felt conflicted about the eternal "Real vs. Fake" Christmas Tree Debate.  A live tree may be greener overall, but I still cringed a bit at the thought (and expense, and mess, and the hassle of having to bolt our loveseat to the ceiling to make room) of squeezing a tree into our little apartment.

So I'm finally ready to be festive, but couldn't quite go so far as to buy a tree.

What's a girl to do?

Well, a crafty girl marches out into the back yard (We live in NC! We have a yard!) and drags a fallen branch over to her deck, slaps down some scrap cardboard, and spray paints that sucker white. So now I have a Big White Stick! Perfect. The Christmas Stick gets plunked into a tall white ceramic vase with some white tissue paper crammed in to keep it upright and Auggie-proof. Then it gets wrapped with white lights and adorned with all the bird ornaments I had stashed away.

You see, 5 years ago, Mom and I decided to pillage Target on the Day After Christmas. I pushed her around in her wheelchair as she clutched a basket in her lap. I had decided I needed some of my own ornaments, and I had a vision. A theme, if you will. "Let Heaven and Nature Sing!". Only animal and bird ornaments, with red and gold do-dads mixed in. Some order to my Christmas Chaos. So, I loaded her up with a couple dozen clip-on birds, red and gold glass spheres, and faux-berry garlands.  And that Christmas, I convinced my then-roommate to get a ridiculously big tree and I festooned it with birds, berries, and balls. It was glorious.

And so this year, Les and I have The Christmas Stick. I love it. And it inspired me to just rock on with the bird theme.  Birds and Words:

Our mantel birds (who perch there all year) were joined by a tiny poinsettia and a canvas wrapped with burlap and some stick-on letters.

Some hand-felted "snow birds" that I bought on etsy a couple of years ago hang out with a little penguin figurine that Mom gave me in a stocking a zillion years ago. Chillin' with the NOEL letters.

Ok, I know this is crazy, but for some reason I thought that because it never really got cold in North Carolina, there wouldn't be any cardinals here. That made me really sad when we first moved, but guess what? They are everywhere. I love them. They are just harder to see when there is no snow!

Our Christmas mantel. A little crowded, but totally awesome. 

There's even a funny little bird in our Nativity: check out the silly chicken on Joseph's back! I can't imagine a creche without some animals. Les and I bought this one in Portugal right after we got engaged. I love it. It is made out of this sandy clay stuff. And the calf and the donkey look like they are singing.

Joy to the World, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her king
Let every heart prepare Him room
And Heaven and Nature Sing

Let my mom, in heaven, sing
Let all the animals and birds, and trees and stars, all of God's creation, sing His praise

They do a better job of it than we do sometimes, don't they?

Gratitude Lessons

It's November, so that means I'm happily jumping on the 30 Days of Thanks on Facebook. The very simple premise is that you post one thing each day for which you are thankful. I love it. I LOVE IT. I love to read other people's posts. I love to be able to scroll through my page and others' pages at the end of the month and read a list of blessings and God's provision and common grace.

It is one thing to have a month of thankful Facebook posts, and quite another to cultivate a heart of gratitude. I've been working on that one for a while now.

Take this beautiful white KitchenAid stand mixer, for example.

When I was in my early and mid-twenties, I had some SERIOUS envy issues. Why? Because every summer I found myself shelling out money I did not have to purchase things for my friends' weddings that I wanted myself, and I despaired of ever having matching plates that did not come from a thrift store, or ceramic nesting mixing bowls to sit cheerily on the counter instead of ugly plastic ones. But the Mother Of All Covetousness was the elusive, expensive, Bridal-Registry-Golden-Ticket, the KitchenAid Stand Mixer.

I watched friend after friend tear into the big heavy box at the wedding shower, after being reminded that "this one is too heavy for your lap, why don't you come over to the gift table and open in!" winkwinknudgenudge. And there before our eyes, the glowing bride would unveil a beautiful KitchenAid, often in a dazzling bright color to match the thoughtful "accent colors of her kitchen". You know, a mixer painted to match the colors of all her new dish towels and spatulas.

And every time this happened, my heart clenched up a bit. Not only was I NOT GETTING MARRIED, I was also never going to get a stand mixer. Because they are like $300 and I certainly did not have that kind of money. And neither did my mom, should she ever be inclined to buy me such a gift.

Let's get to the specifics, here. I wanted a fire-engine red Kitchen Aid mixer. I had this dream of a red and white kitchen, primarily because I had scored a cute little red Kitchen Aid mini-food chopper on clearance at Kohls one day, so now naturally I needed the Stand Mixer to be red. Because obviously now I was going to have a red-and-white kitchen filled with Fancy, Matching Kitchen Stuff someday. This red kitchen dream grew and grew. I started trying to figure out a way to sock away some cash for a mixer. I asked my mom to be on the lookout for sales at department stores. I asked for money for my birthday for the Mixer Fund.

And then something incredible happened.

I sat in my mother's house on Christmas morning, geared up for a very modest Christmas gift giving season. We were all scraping that year. I was hoping for an envelope with a little boost to my Fund. But then as my siblings start unwrapping their gifts, I hear my dear mom say "Jill, your gift is too heavy for your lap, why don't you come over here and open it right under the tree!". I could hear the glint of glee in her voice. I trembled. I walked over to the tree and saw the big rectangular box wrapped in plain paper. And I tore into it to discover!!!!!!!......... A white Kitchen Aid standmixer.

Has there ever been a more ungrateful, undeserving, horrible daughter in the history of daughters? I didn't see a KitchenAid. I didn't see the object of years of envy. I saw the wrong color. My eyes gave me away.

"What's wrong? You've wanted that for SO long!"

"I love it mom. I do. I was saving up for the red one, though."

"Well, I'm sorry, honey, but that was the only one I could afford. The Marshall Fields is going out of business, you know, so they had really big sales back in October. I bought this one as an open box for less than half the price it would usually be. I couldn't have afforded it otherwise. It's your Christmas and birthday present. I'm sorry it's not the color you wanted. It can't be returned."

Have you ever hated me more than you hate me right now? I hate me right now. I hate even recounting that story. I hate the ungrateful freak that I was then. I hate that there was even ONE Christmas that I made my mom feel sad about a gift that she had worked and scrimped to give to me (Unfortunately, there is at least one other story like this, but cut my some slack - I was 8 then). I wish I could get EVERY Christmas with my awesome mom back. I would trade every KitchenAid in the world for more Christmases with my mom. And I whined because I didn't get the red one.

And you know what else?

Sitting here about 8 years later, I have a white-on-white kitchen and I love it. I love my white mixer. It doesn't sit on the counter and scream APPLIANCE! It blends in with the white. It sits demurely waiting for me to bake something or whip up some cream. And I think of my mom every time I see it. She didn't even have one of these in her own kitchen. Maybe she even wished that she had had one. But she searched high and low to get one for me one year, and now I hug the mixer sometimes and thank it for its years of dutiful service.

I did kind of make up for my terrible showing that Christmas morning, and call my mom just about every time I used the mixer from that day forward and thank her for it, and apologize for being a brat. She must have heard me say "I'm actually SO glad I have a white one!" at least 50 times. So hopefully that helped. But that whole rotten display of Stuff Over People continues to convict me about my heart and getting "my heart set" on things. I never ever EVER want to do that again.

What about you? Have you ever let a thing mess with your brain and heart? Do you wish you could go back in time and Scream for Joy over a white stand mixer?

Give Thanks for More Than Plenty

Our "Eat Our Way Out of Chicago" tour is going gangbusters, and pants-busters. I'm thankful and humbled by all the brunch, lunch, dinner, coffee, and dessert dates we've been able to squeeze in over the past week or so, and the calendar reminds me that we have several more to go! Lunch and coffee treats today, dinner tonight, brunch tomorrow, lunch and/or dinner tomorrow... and on and on and OMG I AM GOING TO EXPLODE. With awesome.

Now, I'm all for the frugal and healthy decision to do "non-food" socializing with friends. And I do love to go for a walk or kayak or window shop or watch a movie or volunteer or any of those other fun activities that do not circle the plate. But there is something really great about sharing a meal with your friends. Or even just a coffee. Les and I had dinner last night with my two Rogers Park Besties, Michelle and Jackie. The food itself was pretty OK, but the talking and laughing and fry-stealing and what-is-this-terrible-open-mic-night-nonsense eye rolling were just so great. And I've been counting down the days to tonight's Jess and Andrea Annual Christmas Dinner with my sweet college girl friends. And it is good. I give thanks.

While I was driving to work this morning, I heard that one of the area's largest food pantries is not going to be able to give out any turkey dinner food boxes this Thanksgiving because their donations are so low and the demand is so high. And I thought about Les's suggestion that we volunteer somewhere for Thanksgiving this year. And then I gave more thanks. Maybe I'm just too busy with the move and everything, but I don't have any energy to feel guilty right now. I'm just trying to be mindful of THANKS. Over and over and over and over again. Remembering that God is good all the time, in plenty and in times when, as my grandma would say "you don't have two dimes to rub together". I think about this Scripture verse that we read at my mom's memorial service - Philippians 4:11-13.

¹¹ I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. ¹² I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. ¹³ I can do all this through him who gives me strength.

Isn't this hard to remember, though, sometimes? My mom was an unusually thankful, gracious person; traits which I think were sharpened through years of hardship, sorrow, joy, friendship, and a keen eye for God's provision in all circumstances. She was the ultimate "Glass Half Full" girl. I am thankful for her example, and pray that I can cultivate her mindset and heart of abundance.

Anyway, this is kind of a rambling post. I'll sum it up by saying that Thanks Giving can feel like a discipline when times are tough and a Bonus Gift and privilege when blessings are pouring in. Hopefully the more we practice in the feast, the more natural and free-flowing it will be in the famine.

Heirlooms - Part 3

What I learned from my mom about Grace

I don't even know how to start this. I've been thinking about this post for over a week now, and even as I sit down to write it, I don't know what I'm going to say.  Because the truth is, I can't think of too many things that I have learned about Grace that I didn't learn from my mom.

She struggled. With my dad's illness. With raising three ridiculous children. With loneliness, overwhelm, financial hardship. With losing both of her parents in her early 30s. With getting smacked in the face with metastatic cancer at 57.

But you had to look really closely to see any of the fissures wrought by all that struggle, because her day-to-day life was marked by a deep and quiet joy. There was always a song on her lips, a smile on her face, and something positive and optimistic coming out of her mouth. It was almost annoying.

I keep starting to write stories about the grace that poured out from mom while she was caring for my dad when he was ill, or about her life with cancer while God's luminous grace went right on beaming from within her. But I didn't like how it started to read like my mom's life was all about suffering and death.

It wasn't.

Her life was framed by singing. Ebullient, melodious singing. All. The. Time. Hymns, show tunes, Barbara Streisand, Simon and Garfunkel, Chorale numbers, The Carpenters.

And flowers. And parties. And friends. And signature dishes like vegetable pizza and dumples and 7-layer salad. She made jewelry and knitted blankets. She volunteered at her church. Took in my dad's parents when their house burned down and helped care for them until she needed care herself. And through all the pain and hard days and long nights, she was the most graceful person I have ever met. FULL of grace.

For my mom, "His Grace is sufficient" was more than a refrigerator magnet or a cross-stitch sampler. It was her breath.

I would just be rambling now if I kept typing. But I'll end with a quote from my favorite poet-theologian, Bono, that I think sums up what I learned from my mom about Grace:

Grace finds beauty in everything.

Heirlooms - Part 2

What I learned from my mom about Gray...

My mom didn't start coloring her hair until she was in her 50s. And even then, it was kind of an afterthought. When the Chemo took her hair, it grew back into an awesomely chic fuzzy gray crop. It was my favorite hair style my mom ever had. It suited her perfectly, and was it's own kind of bravery and hope. 

I know, I posted this pic yesterday. But I love it, and it's my blog :)

When she was younger, she kept glossy dark brown hair stylin' with minimal-maintenance cuts. It always had a glint of shine in all the photos I have of her from her early 20s and 30s.

She didn't fret about her hair much, even when it was falling out. She just wrapped her head in a scarf and didn't bother much with a wig or anything (except for my brother's wedding, and she looked great).

Mom's beauty routine was spartan: Wash face with Noxema cream, dab on some liquid foundation, powder blush, maybe a little eye shadow and lipstick. Mascara once in a while. No fancy eye creams or wrinkle reducers. And you know what, my mom had zero wrinkles. When I asked her her secret once, when I discovered fine lines around my mouth in college, she replied "Well, I hated my oily skin when I was younger, but now I know it was just keeping the wrinkles away! I don't use too much stuff on my face, and I always wear sunscreen and a floppy hat."

Good advice.

I remember one day, after she had started her chemo, that she had come to visit me in Chicago. I was standing in the kitchen of my apartment with her and my then-roommate. I looked at my mom, then I looked at my roommate and exclaimed "Look at my mom's perfect face! She's 56 and I have more wrinkles than she does!" My roommate wisely asked; "Mrs. Wiles, how much time do you spent worrying about how many wrinkles you have on your face?" Mom replied "Absolutely zippo", and my roommate turned back to me and chided "Why don't you try that method for a while, and see if it helps".

Aging gracefully is beautiful and challenging when you encounter it. I'm still trying to move in that direction. Because you can't start accepting and loving yourself soon enough. Wrinkles, gray hair and all. You never know how much time you have, or how old you will get. If my mom taught me anything about graying along, it would be that worrying about it is flat out a waste of precious, beautiful time.

Heirlooms

In honor of Mother's Day weekend, I'm going to indulge in a bit of mommy-love by sharing some things with y'all that I learned from my mom about Green, Gray, and Grace.

 

First up: What I learned from my mom about living Green

 

1. Use what you've got.
My family grew up in farm country, in a house that mom and dad built themselves (with the help of some skilled friends and family) soon after they were married.

 

Our house, decked out for Les and my wedding.

The house included lots of local material, which probably made my parents seem a bit like hippy kooks at the time, but really, it was a combo of financial cheapskateness and the abundance of things like field stones and re-purposed barn beams from my mom's family farm. They didn't go the thrifty route for everything. The siding is the original redwood from 40 years ago. Buy quality stuff, and it will last you forever.

 

The steps down to the garage are scavenged surplus rail road ties. Still the originals.

 

 

2. It's dumb to use electricity when you don't need to

• In the summer, mom used a clothes line instead of the dryer.
• The house was built with huge south-facing windows that heated the house up nicely in the winter, and were shaded by big trees in the summer.
• Open the windows if you are hot. Put on a sweater if you are cold.

 

3. A lot of good-old-fashioned thrifty habits are good for the earth too!

• Use cloth diapers instead of buying disposable (we were all Tidy-Didy-Diaper babies).
• Bake your own bread, make cake from scratch, pie crust is not as challenging as everyone makes it sound.
• Your shirt has a hole in it? Here's a needle and thread. Same goes for your jeans.
• We learned to sew at a young age. Making your own doll clothes, or simple skirts or purses is fun, and no one else will have the exact same stuff.
• Grow your own veggies. Make compost and use that instead of expensive, nasty fertilizer.
• Every time you get something new, something old has to go to Salvation Army (Ok, so we rarely, if ever, followed through with this directive, but she tried).

 

And if I had to choose the best Green thing that my mom passed down to me, it would be this:

 

Everything everything everything that God made is beautiful. Amazing. And precious.

 

I remember walking around with mom in the woods behind our house and not even needing to demand that toddler-tyrant drone of "What That??" because she was touching and naming everything for me with such wonder and pride.... "Elm tree! Columbine! Look! A momma cardinal! Hear her?"

 

We learned the names of plants, birds, animals, trees, weeds, stones (limestone! slate! I think that might be a geode!) with enthusiasm and great interest. I've forgotten some of them now, but I find myself telling our dog Auggie the name of every plant and flower we pass on our evening walks. Because I need to share the wonder with someone. The amazement of a fluffy hosta twirling free from a tightly-wound straw of green stalk. The eager anticipation of irises shooting straight out of the ground like arrowheads.

 

Mom didn't go to college, but she was a voracious reader. And she grew up close to the earth - on a farm, with 5 siblings. She worked in a doctor's office for over a decade. I believed she knew everything about anything that was important. Until she died in 2009, I called her every spring to talk about the first flower buds, or to ask her what setting I needed to use on the sewing machine to sew on denim, or to remind me of that soup recipe. She knew where to plant things, how to can vegetables, and where to buy the best yarn. She knew how to get stains out of the carpet, and when it was safe to transplant pansies.

 

 

I miss her every day. Especially around Mothers Day, when I used to hunt for a new peony plant for her garden, or a wind chime or a bird feeder to give her. I miss her in this whole G3 experiment. I want her to show me how to bake bread and freeze corn. I want to ask her about life on the farm. I want to show her how much I learned from her, how much of her I carry around with me every day. How much grace.