4th post for Carl's G.I.F.T Challenge
Two poems for Christmas:
Christiana Rossetti wrote Love Came Down at Christmas in the 1850's. Often song as a carol to a traditional Irish folk tune.
Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.
Worship we the Godhead,
Love incarnate, love divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?
Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti wrote Christ Climbed Down in the 1950's. Since this is still under copyright, I'm only quoting the first and last stanzas of the poem. Here is a link where it is published with permission. You can hear Ferlinghetti reading a portion of this poem here.
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no rootless Christmas trees
hung with candycanes and breakable stars
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no gilded Christmas trees
and no tinsel Christmas trees
and no tinfoil Christmas trees
and no pink plastic Christmas trees
....
Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and softly stole away into
some anonymous Mary's womb again
where in the darkest night
of everybody's anonymous soul
He awaits again
an unimaginable and impossibly
Immaculate Reconception
the very craziest
of Second Comings.
Two very different poets. From two different continents, two different centuries. Two different perspectives on Christ's incarnation.
Whether your perspective tends towards Rosetti's view or towards Ferlinghetti's, may you have a joyous Christmas.
May God, who in the Word-made-flesh joined heaven to earth and earth to heaven, give us all God's peace and favor. -- Anglican Christmas Blessing
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
25 December 2006
22 December 2006
Star People and Angel People
3rd Post for Carl's G.I.F.T Challenge
For some, it may seem a bit late to be putting up the Christmas tree today, but traditionally, I rarely put up the tree until a few days before Christmas. When I was a child, we never put the tree up until after December 17th, my father's birthday.
Each year, I buy a set of ornaments, usually following a certain theme or design. I mark each with our initials and the year. I have done this every year since my son was born. Although as I sorted through the ornaments today I realized that I hadn't put the year on each one. But, he does have one ornament for each of his 18 Christmases, even if we didn't record the year. This year I bought three birds. They'll roost on the tree with several others I've collected over the years. Birds on a tree just seem right to me.
The Santa Forest
Another ornament tradition that we have is to buy Santa ornaments. I buy at least one or two each year. We have so many now, that they don't fit on the tree. So, we have what is known in our house as the 'Santa Forest'. Santa Forest used to be on the piano. Other years it has been located on the mantel. This year, it's the bookcase, which doesn't have much room, so the Santas look rather cozy.
The Angelic Choir
The other type of ornaments that adorn our tree are angels. There are two types of people who decorate Christmas trees: Star people and Angel people. If you're a Star person, Angels just look wrong atop the tree. The same is true for Angel people: Stars don't belong crowning a Yule tree. What started out as a compromise many years ago -- I got my Star where it belong and there was at least one angel on the tree -- has turned into a collection of Angel ornaments, a representation of the Heavenly Host on the tree. I usually hum "Angels, We Have Heard on High" when I decorate the tree. At the last Annual Holiday Angel Count, I had 105 Angel Ornaments.
Speaking of Annual Counts, The Audubon Society's Annual Christmas Bird Count, continues through January 5. Follow the link to find out how you can participate and to see a photo album of birds -- the real ones that are so much more beautiful than any ornament on a tree!
For some, it may seem a bit late to be putting up the Christmas tree today, but traditionally, I rarely put up the tree until a few days before Christmas. When I was a child, we never put the tree up until after December 17th, my father's birthday.
Each year, I buy a set of ornaments, usually following a certain theme or design. I mark each with our initials and the year. I have done this every year since my son was born. Although as I sorted through the ornaments today I realized that I hadn't put the year on each one. But, he does have one ornament for each of his 18 Christmases, even if we didn't record the year. This year I bought three birds. They'll roost on the tree with several others I've collected over the years. Birds on a tree just seem right to me.
The Santa Forest
Another ornament tradition that we have is to buy Santa ornaments. I buy at least one or two each year. We have so many now, that they don't fit on the tree. So, we have what is known in our house as the 'Santa Forest'. Santa Forest used to be on the piano. Other years it has been located on the mantel. This year, it's the bookcase, which doesn't have much room, so the Santas look rather cozy.The Angelic Choir
The other type of ornaments that adorn our tree are angels. There are two types of people who decorate Christmas trees: Star people and Angel people. If you're a Star person, Angels just look wrong atop the tree. The same is true for Angel people: Stars don't belong crowning a Yule tree. What started out as a compromise many years ago -- I got my Star where it belong and there was at least one angel on the tree -- has turned into a collection of Angel ornaments, a representation of the Heavenly Host on the tree. I usually hum "Angels, We Have Heard on High" when I decorate the tree. At the last Annual Holiday Angel Count, I had 105 Angel Ornaments.Speaking of Annual Counts, The Audubon Society's Annual Christmas Bird Count, continues through January 5. Follow the link to find out how you can participate and to see a photo album of birds -- the real ones that are so much more beautiful than any ornament on a tree!
16 December 2006
Christmas Gift(s): A Memory
2nd post for Carl's G.I.F.T. Challenge....
One year when my son was about six years old, Christmas looked bleak, at least from a gift-giving perspective due to the thinness of my wallet. Say anything you want regarding the 'true meaning of Christmas', but few or no packages under the tree means nothing but disappointment for a child.
I had been ambivalent about the idea of Santa Claus, but my son's father was adamant about not misleading children about some jolly old man bringing 'good' kids presents. So, there were never presents labeled from Santa under my tree, although there were plenty without any tags at all. A bit of a compromise, but one that I stood by, even when my son's dad was no longer a member of our household. Over time, although I never said anything about Santa, B. began to believe in Santa. I realized how pervasive this idea of Christmas is in our culture. Wondering how non-Christian children in America must feel -- that Santa is not only for "good" kids, but only for "good Christian" kids -- really annoyed me and so I continued with the no Santa rule in my house.
One day B. approached me tearfully. He told me that he really wanted Santa to come and bring him gifts and he had even written a letter, but his dad had told him that Santa was "just some old guy working at the mall in a cheap costume and ski hat". B. was crushed! I realized how important the idea of Santa was to him. I was in a pickle. I told my mother about the conversation. I soon realized that was not my wisest move.
Quicker than you could say "Rudolph, the red-nosed", she had sprung into action. She contacted a neighbor who had played Santa at a "Breakfast with Santa" event at her church the previous week -- an event which I had declined to attend. "He's such a good Santa", she said. "And, it isn't a cheap costume! Come over here tomorrow for dinner and he'll stop by."
I knew there would be little peace if I didn't go along with her idea, and I was saddened by my little inconsolable boy with his heart crushed by discovering that the Santa I had never said existed, in fact, didn't. So to the other side of town we went the following evening.
Around 8pm, there was a heavy knock on the back door. Before we could answer it, in strolled the best costumed Santa I'd ever seen. My mother's friend, J., was unrecognizable. White hair, realistic beard, ruddy checks, heavy black boots, black workmen's gloves -- the kind you'd need to hold reindeer reins.
"I heard that B. was here. Where is he?" Santa laughed in a friendly way. But my son was no where in sight. Frightened, he had jumped behind the sofa. I don't know what he thought at first. That some itinerant mall worker had broken into G-Ma's house? That his father was so wrong? That Santa really existed and missed him at the Breakfast the previous week?
It took a few minutes, but B. finally emerged from behind the cushions, trembling, walked up to Santa and pinched him, confirming that he was, in fact, quite pinchable and real. Santa asked B. what he wanted for Christmas.
"Roller blades" he said. "For me and for my mommy. And books."
"Well," Santa said, "if your Grandmother and your teacher Mrs. H. report to me that you've been good, those gifts will be under your tree on Christmas morning."
"Rollerblades. For me and my mommy."
"My reindeer are ready to leave. I have to go. They spook real easy, so you can't go outside until you count to 100." With that, he left out the back door. After the quickest counting to 100 he had done to date, B. rushed to the back door, trying to push past his grandfather to get to the outside door. Somehow, J. had managed to get around the corner of the house, through the neighbors' yards and to his house before B. saw him. B. of course wasn't thinking about looking at the lawn; he was focused on the roofline and the sky beyond.
"Look" he said, "a piece of the reindeer's harness", pointing to a roof clamp that had been left by the roofing crew earlier in the day. "I hope the sleigh is safe."
"I can't wait to get my rollerblades!"
One problem solved, but another had taken it's place. This was the first mention of rollerblades and I am not the most athletic adult you'll ever encounter. Christmas was looking a little bleaker now that I had to buy myself a present too. But, Santa had promised.
I served the most inexpensive meals I could find for the next few weeks, and frequently showed up to shop for groceries at my mother's refrigerator. I had a little money saved, and somehow managed to save enough to buy two pair of new skates, helmets and pads. They even matched in color.
Christmas morning, B's eyes lit up when he saw the presents under the tree. Books and Rollerblades for him and for his mommy -- exactly what he had asked Santa for. He had so much fun putting on his new skates. He wanted to show me how to skate but it was very cold that day, too cold to skate outside. After I made B. swear that he wouldn't tell G'ma, we moved all of the furniture out of the family and dining rooms and created an inside rollerblade rink. We skated around the rooms for a couple of hours, leaving fingerprints on the walls as we bumped along, and leaving tracks that eventually came out of the carpet with a steamer. It was a too big of a promise -- and too much fun -- for a six year old to not tell his grandmother, and as predicted she was appalled that I would allow such 'horseplay' in the house. But, it didn't matter. It was the most memorable Christmas morning we ever shared.
One year when my son was about six years old, Christmas looked bleak, at least from a gift-giving perspective due to the thinness of my wallet. Say anything you want regarding the 'true meaning of Christmas', but few or no packages under the tree means nothing but disappointment for a child.
I had been ambivalent about the idea of Santa Claus, but my son's father was adamant about not misleading children about some jolly old man bringing 'good' kids presents. So, there were never presents labeled from Santa under my tree, although there were plenty without any tags at all. A bit of a compromise, but one that I stood by, even when my son's dad was no longer a member of our household. Over time, although I never said anything about Santa, B. began to believe in Santa. I realized how pervasive this idea of Christmas is in our culture. Wondering how non-Christian children in America must feel -- that Santa is not only for "good" kids, but only for "good Christian" kids -- really annoyed me and so I continued with the no Santa rule in my house.
One day B. approached me tearfully. He told me that he really wanted Santa to come and bring him gifts and he had even written a letter, but his dad had told him that Santa was "just some old guy working at the mall in a cheap costume and ski hat". B. was crushed! I realized how important the idea of Santa was to him. I was in a pickle. I told my mother about the conversation. I soon realized that was not my wisest move.
Quicker than you could say "Rudolph, the red-nosed", she had sprung into action. She contacted a neighbor who had played Santa at a "Breakfast with Santa" event at her church the previous week -- an event which I had declined to attend. "He's such a good Santa", she said. "And, it isn't a cheap costume! Come over here tomorrow for dinner and he'll stop by."
I knew there would be little peace if I didn't go along with her idea, and I was saddened by my little inconsolable boy with his heart crushed by discovering that the Santa I had never said existed, in fact, didn't. So to the other side of town we went the following evening.
Around 8pm, there was a heavy knock on the back door. Before we could answer it, in strolled the best costumed Santa I'd ever seen. My mother's friend, J., was unrecognizable. White hair, realistic beard, ruddy checks, heavy black boots, black workmen's gloves -- the kind you'd need to hold reindeer reins.
"I heard that B. was here. Where is he?" Santa laughed in a friendly way. But my son was no where in sight. Frightened, he had jumped behind the sofa. I don't know what he thought at first. That some itinerant mall worker had broken into G-Ma's house? That his father was so wrong? That Santa really existed and missed him at the Breakfast the previous week?
It took a few minutes, but B. finally emerged from behind the cushions, trembling, walked up to Santa and pinched him, confirming that he was, in fact, quite pinchable and real. Santa asked B. what he wanted for Christmas.
"Roller blades" he said. "For me and for my mommy. And books."
"Well," Santa said, "if your Grandmother and your teacher Mrs. H. report to me that you've been good, those gifts will be under your tree on Christmas morning."
"Rollerblades. For me and my mommy."
"My reindeer are ready to leave. I have to go. They spook real easy, so you can't go outside until you count to 100." With that, he left out the back door. After the quickest counting to 100 he had done to date, B. rushed to the back door, trying to push past his grandfather to get to the outside door. Somehow, J. had managed to get around the corner of the house, through the neighbors' yards and to his house before B. saw him. B. of course wasn't thinking about looking at the lawn; he was focused on the roofline and the sky beyond.
"Look" he said, "a piece of the reindeer's harness", pointing to a roof clamp that had been left by the roofing crew earlier in the day. "I hope the sleigh is safe."
"I can't wait to get my rollerblades!"
One problem solved, but another had taken it's place. This was the first mention of rollerblades and I am not the most athletic adult you'll ever encounter. Christmas was looking a little bleaker now that I had to buy myself a present too. But, Santa had promised.
I served the most inexpensive meals I could find for the next few weeks, and frequently showed up to shop for groceries at my mother's refrigerator. I had a little money saved, and somehow managed to save enough to buy two pair of new skates, helmets and pads. They even matched in color.
Christmas morning, B's eyes lit up when he saw the presents under the tree. Books and Rollerblades for him and for his mommy -- exactly what he had asked Santa for. He had so much fun putting on his new skates. He wanted to show me how to skate but it was very cold that day, too cold to skate outside. After I made B. swear that he wouldn't tell G'ma, we moved all of the furniture out of the family and dining rooms and created an inside rollerblade rink. We skated around the rooms for a couple of hours, leaving fingerprints on the walls as we bumped along, and leaving tracks that eventually came out of the carpet with a steamer. It was a too big of a promise -- and too much fun -- for a six year old to not tell his grandmother, and as predicted she was appalled that I would allow such 'horseplay' in the house. But, it didn't matter. It was the most memorable Christmas morning we ever shared.
11 December 2006
Christmas in Harmony
Philip Gulley's Christmas in Harmony isn't the type of book that I usually read. I was convinced that I would hate it, but steeled myself to slog through this short book for a bookclub read. So, I was surprised that I found myself laughing aloud throughout the 80+ pages of this book.
This was my first venture in reading of the fictional town of Harmony and its lovable but flaky inhabitants that are gently ministered to by Pastor Sam Gardner. It's almost Christmas when the story opens and the members of the Harmony Friends Meeting want to do something different for Christmas Eve services. Irascible and unpredictable, Dale Hinshaw is determined to have a progressive Nativity pageant -- sort of like a progressive dinner, but without the cocktails, horsd'oerves, entree and dessert. In addition to the chaos of the crass rendition of a Nativity scene, Pastor Sam Gardner deals with children skeptical about Santa Claus, finding the perfect tree, arguing with his wife over the sending of greeting cards, an exploding truck, the loneliness and fears of his congregation, and with attempting to build an inclusive congregation in a church where the parishioners are wary of strangers. What ensues is funny, heartwarming, and charmingly descriptive of how people deal with changing traditions without losing the 'true' meaning of the Season.
The fictional town of Harmony is a nostalgic place, a sort of mid-western American Brigadoon. It is a nostalgia for a time and place that has never existed, but that we all at some time wished had. Harmony is a town that is befitting of its placename; despite the flaws and quarrels of its inhabitants, is a harmonious place of grace and forgiveness, where the reader ends up loving the characters in spite of their foibles.
This is a quick read that is perfect for someone looking for a short holiday-related book. It is a delightfully sentimental book that will put a smile on your face and make you want to hang some mistletoe and colored lights, although you might re-think the plastic creche set on the front lawn!
This is my first post for Carl's holiday fun challenge.
This was my first venture in reading of the fictional town of Harmony and its lovable but flaky inhabitants that are gently ministered to by Pastor Sam Gardner. It's almost Christmas when the story opens and the members of the Harmony Friends Meeting want to do something different for Christmas Eve services. Irascible and unpredictable, Dale Hinshaw is determined to have a progressive Nativity pageant -- sort of like a progressive dinner, but without the cocktails, horsd'oerves, entree and dessert. In addition to the chaos of the crass rendition of a Nativity scene, Pastor Sam Gardner deals with children skeptical about Santa Claus, finding the perfect tree, arguing with his wife over the sending of greeting cards, an exploding truck, the loneliness and fears of his congregation, and with attempting to build an inclusive congregation in a church where the parishioners are wary of strangers. What ensues is funny, heartwarming, and charmingly descriptive of how people deal with changing traditions without losing the 'true' meaning of the Season.
The fictional town of Harmony is a nostalgic place, a sort of mid-western American Brigadoon. It is a nostalgia for a time and place that has never existed, but that we all at some time wished had. Harmony is a town that is befitting of its placename; despite the flaws and quarrels of its inhabitants, is a harmonious place of grace and forgiveness, where the reader ends up loving the characters in spite of their foibles.
This is a quick read that is perfect for someone looking for a short holiday-related book. It is a delightfully sentimental book that will put a smile on your face and make you want to hang some mistletoe and colored lights, although you might re-think the plastic creche set on the front lawn!
This is my first post for Carl's holiday fun challenge.
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