Hello from a driving break,
I am a creature of habit, of that there is little room for doubt. Therefore, I am in a Starbucks on Duff Avenue in Ames, Iowa, on my way over the hills, with little or no woods, and to the relatives’ house we go. As noted by a seminary classmate by phone earlier this morning, and certainly as experienced since my return, memories can be a double-edged reminder of who we were versus who we are. They can transport us back to that time. Yet, how we remember things versus how others see that time can be quite different. There is nothing wrong with those diverse perceptions, those retrospections, but the divergence can catch us off guard. Too often our hopes or expectations are colored by our individual attempts to gratify ourselves by those previous experiences, be they with a place or a person. I know I am guilty of this, not as a sort of conscious reframing of the past, but wishing most often for the best possible spin or outcome of our past. The propensity for such might be elevated at this time of year because of our romanticism of the holiday season. Lines of Dan Fogelberg’s “Auld Lang Syne” are rolling through my head at the moment. Undoubtedly, there is a wish the fairy tale we believe or chosen to create, to remember, is possible. Too often I find myself remembering only specific things that make the reminiscing enjoyable, believing it can be the same. Seldom, however, is that the case. Indeed, Fogelberg’s lyrics are poignant reminders “lost in our embarrassment as the conversation dragged” . . . “And tried to reach beyond the emptiness . . . Just for a moment . . . And the snow turned into rain”.
As many know, I love Christmas decorations, creating the fairy tale home where giving has no boundaries. Of all the things I have purchased, there is one 2’x2’ square somewhat barn-board style painting of small boy dragging a Christmas tree back to his home in the snow, which is my favorite. It is my fairy tale in image form. Christmas vacation as an elementary-school-aged boy meant spending a week at Grandma’s house following Christmas. Snow, new presents, toboggans, and hanging out at the bakery, each of those memories is delightful. Morning breakfasts of poached eggs, bakery bread, and a half of grapefruit, which remains my comfort food to this day, began each morning on a positive note. What made the holiday time so special was the generosity and love displayed by my grandmother. It was limitless. I think it was her way of asking for some forgiveness that she found it necessary earlier in life that adoption was a more likely path forward for my sister and me. Part of that adoption was she would remain our grandparent, and she embraced that role with every ounce of her being. My grandmother’s home was not extravagant; it was a two bedroom, two story house at the end of a street in a decidedly blue collar section of my city, and there were more fields than houses around her. Those hills and fields were our playground and our safe haven. As I write this, it is the first day of Advent, a season of preparation, of hope, and of light that shines into a darkness that covers both more hours of our day, but it can also illuminate a world that seems to struggle with the ability to exhibit kindness. Kindness is not always an easy thing to manage; I know this in my own life, but it is a necessary trait if we are to be hopeful as we go about our life.
What I realize now is my grandmother’s indubitable charity is who she was. It was always there in how she treated her bakery employees, in how she gave to her church and her chapter of Eastern Star, and in how she loved us all unconditionally. In spite of the fogginess of other memories, which come with time, the clarity of her graciousness shines through as the brightly lit Advent wreath that adorns houses and sanctuaries during this season. It was my first trip to Europe with Dr. John W. Nielsen, which opened my eyes to the reality of Advent and the idea of preparing for the true Christmas season (those 12 days from the 25th of December until Epiphany, January 6th). The reality of allowing each liturgical season to do what it does can be helpful for the soul. The truth of preparedness is something I’ve come to appreciate. In all of life, we will be hit with the unexpected. We will be tested when our memories of someone or someone do not fit with the given we experience in the present. This is painful and disconcerting. It requires us to reimagine, to rethink, the past, or more precisely to let the past go. That is not something easily achieved, especially when we like what we remember. That gets me to the title of the post. As time passes, are all memories merely our perceptions of what was? Is there only a minimal degree of actuality to those childhood recollections? Is it our way of minimizing the disappointments we might have experienced? These are difficult questions, but necessary if we are to be honest with ourselves and with others.
Sometimes it is easy to become disillusioned by the struggles of our humanity, by what Paul calls doing the evil we hate. And yet, the promise of Advent is there is a light on the horizon, a light that the darkness cannot overcome. It is in that hope I can find some comfort, some belief in a sense of peace that transports me back to that childhood of Christmas magic. The memories of a giving grandmother who epitomized the true spirit of generosity, of kindness, and actions that backed up her boundless love for us. As I woke this morning, there was an unexpected layer of snow, gentle, light and glistening. The air was crisp and the cold was noticeable, but manageable because of the calmness. There was a pureness to the morning as the snow covered the empty fields, as it lay undisturbed yet by our humanity. While it is also a harbinger of the colder Midwestern temperatures I know typical, the morning transported me back to the memories of the hills and fields I noted above. Often we think of the winter as a time of hibernation for plants and animals, but I think some of my fondest memories are found in the snow. My colleague’s son, who attends Michigan Tech, where I spent so much time and received my PhD, sent a picture with a measuring tape in the snow. They were at 30” and counting. I loved that part of living there. With an average annual snowfall of over 8-9 feet, living with and in the snow was a fact of life. For the better part of a decade I lived in the snow-globe world of the Keweenaw, and I learned to both respect and revel in its winter beauty. I remember during my first year, my Toyota 4Runner slid off the road while driving to preach one Sunday morning. In spite going down a rather steep embankment, the 4Runner, which was buried to its windows, sustained no damage because the snow was light and fluffy. Even more amazing, someone took me to the church, and when I came out from the final service, there was my vehicle waiting for me. Two parishioners and a semi had pulled it back onto the road and delivered it. This still amazes me almost 30 years later.
As we work our way through this first few days of the Advent season, we think about the ending of a calendar year, but it is the beginning of the church year, and the year of Luke for those who follow the 3 year lectionary. Perhaps that is apropos for a world who seems so in need of healing. Much of our traditional Christmas story comes from Luke’s gospel, and those are the memories of our childhood, if you were church-going, where we stood in our bathrobes as shepherds, wondering who would be chosen to be Mary, or perhaps, like one Christmas Eve, I was asked to read from the Bible in front of all those people. For me, winter and Advent are inseparable, and they bring me joy and hope. In spite of the extensive darkness that is part of our upper Northern Hemisphere, I am not sad. I am reminded that often it is only in the darkness we can truly appreciate the light and what it offers. This is not some cliché that I write, it is a realty for me. While there can be a degree of fogginess to our holiday memories, I hope you find blessedness in them and may you create some new ones that will bless you and those around you. This piece by the incomparable Mannheim Steamroller bring those blessed memories to me like few pieces do.
Thank you as always for reading,
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 