Ribbons, Beautiful Colored Spirals

Whew! December has slipped quietly into the past. I hope I have time to catch my breath before it hits again.

As I sat here on December 23, trying to decide what to do about shopping, my soul and body were quietly filled with a sense of peace and joy. "Wait a minute," I thought, "Peace and joy . . . isn't there a story about angels who spoke of peace and joy?" The whole story from the Gospel of Luke played in my private movie theatre. (You know, the one that usually plays reruns or worst case scenario movies.) The more I considered Christmas: the birth of Christ, the angels, the shepherds, Joseph, Mary, the happier I felt. The upshot of all this intense consideration was that I made up my mind to go shopping the next day: Christmas Eve!

I decided to be happy. I decided to find treasures. I decided not to be tight-fisted. I DECIDED TO GO TO THE M A L L on December 24! Early the next morning, I woke up singing. By eleven thirty, I was parked in a good spot and ready to begin my personal shopping marathon. I was in the mall until after seven in the evening. What fun I had, choosing just the right books for my grandsons, the right activity for my granddaughter, everything I needed. Every clerk in every store was smiling. I was smiling. I smiled at people who weren't smiling to see if they would smile back in return. Most of them did.

The trunk of my car was full of bags. I started home. THEN I realized I still faced a very large obstacle: Lamar had always been the shopper AND the WRAPPER! Yikes! How could I, with my wrapping impaired hands, accomplish this mammoth task? I made another decision. I would go to visit my friend Cheryl to see if she would help with the wrapping. She would! And she did!
When I left her house, almost all the purchases were beautifully wrapped in shiny gold paper.

I brought them into the house and pulled out the ribbon. Curling ribbon has been my strongest point at Christmastime for years. On December 24, 2007 with Christmas music bursting forth from my (formerly Lamar's) SURROUND SOUND SPEAKERS, I found myself curling ribbon to tie around my beautiful packages. I lined up the velveteen stockings: one for every member of the family. I stuffed them with packages and put them in my car again, all ready to be handed out on Christmas morning at my daughter's house. I went to bed after midnight, weary in body, but happy in spirit and full of peace in my soul.

No. I'm not Scrooge. The Spirit of Christmas found me, just in time.

And now, it's the New Year! 2008. That number makes my head swim. When I was a child, just learning to add, I would lie in bed at night adding. I was 8, so in forty years I would be 48. In forty years my brothers would be . . . my friends would be . . . my mother would be . . .

I could add up to the year 2000, but I could go no farther. In the year 2000 my mother would be 81 years old. My father would be 91. My grandparents would be over 100 years old. My childish mind could not confront the inevitable aging of my family members.

So it was that I never, ever, ever added anybody's age past the year 2000. And it has never occurred to me until recently that in 2008 I will be sixty years old. Tomorrow is my birthday.

A few days ago, my daughter told me not to make plans for today. She said, "We are going to take you to the beach. (If you know me at all, you know about my relationship with the beach. It's more than passionate; it's almost an obsession.) And after the beach, we are taking you to dinner."

Ah, today has been such a relaxing, peaceful mix of fun, conversation and entertainment. There were no packages with ribbons curled around them. Just seven of the people I love most and myself, walking on the beach, picking up shells, laughing, talking and being together. At the restaurant, they put my name on a slip of paper and dropped it into a basket. A few minutes later, the musician pulled the paper out of the basket, announced my birthday and led everyone in singing Happy Birthday to me.

When they came to the last line, I sang. I sang loudly. I sang with gusto. I sang, as if the room had been filled with twirling, curling, spiraling colored ribbons, " Happy Birthday to . . . ME!"

I wish I knew a classic poem to use as the ending for this blog posting. I don't. I'm going to make up a peom. Maybe it will become a classic.

Long have I stood in shadows, trembling beneath dismal peaks.
Long have I ached in darkness, swallowed by ravenous grief.
So long had been my journey and so questioned my beliefs,
I bowed my head in sorrow, despairing my soul's relief.

When from the distance rising, my hearing perceived a song.
Its rhythm was compelling, its sweet melody was strong.
I heard a choir singing, it seemed a heavenly throng,
"Lift up your eyes, He's coming! The King who vanquishes wrong."

I saw Him then before me, most beautiful and most bright:
I saw Him speak forth lightning to fill the valley with light.
"Come from this place of coldness, fly with Me out of the night."
He grasped the hand I held out, turned 'round, and set me to flight.

From then 'til now, I'm soaring! Pain's valley lies far behind.
The shadows are forgotten; I now discern His design:
Like spiraling bright ribbons, my life's path has been assigned
both great joy and great sadness, by which my soul is refined.

Composed tonight to indicate the beginning of a New Year, my sixtieth year, which shall be a year of soaring . . . as a kite with a spiraling tail, on a long string, before a fresh wind.

Spiraling Alone, Like a Kite Caught in the Wind

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I've been shopping a couple of times; to buy obligatory gifts for parties I have been required to attend and to search for appropriate gifts for people I truly love. It's no fun to shop this year. Money is tight; gifts are expensive; real needs are few. I've managed not to fall into the trap of spending money I don't have to spend. But tomorrow is Christmas Eve. There's a family get-together the next day and they will have presents for me. I don't have anything to take wrapped as a gift.
This is when I miss my husband most, I think. He was a Christmas Eve shopper. He loved to go out at the last minute and find a treasure for someone. Maybe I'll go out tomorrow and try again. But tonight, I'm spiraling alone, spinning around and around like an out-of-control kite caught in the wind with string not long enough to allow it to soar. Around and around I whirl, my head spinning. My thoughts are all tangled, like the tail on a twisting kite.
How did I get to this place? I was soaring along, paired with another who was also soaring, riding a fresh wind. Suddenly his string was clipped and he sailed out of sight, just like a kite I flew as a young child. Now, here I am, spiraling around, trying to untangle myself. I want to soar again, but
it's Christmas Eve again. I can't run away this year. Just thinking of family being together without my husband, their dad, their papaw . . . it makes me nauseous.
Usually I can count my blessings. And if I stop now to think, I can find many things and people for which I am grateful. But when I turn the lights out, there's no one there but me.
I'm living a crisis of faith. I want my life to have a foundation. I want God to be sovereign. I want to believe. Yet, just as I think the wind of the Holy Spirit has lifted me above all the doubts, I find myself caught in the dry dead branches of my faith, withered and old.
I wonder how long I will spin around like this. I'm dizzy with the circular motion, yet I haven't been pulled out of it yet.
Am I tying two themes together tonight? What do spiraling kites have to do with Christmas Eve and shopping and family parties? I'm not sure.
I was told this morning to expect doors to open before me and close behind me in the next few days. The old life has to come to an end. A new book needs to be written. Could it be there is a relationship between grief, shopping and kites?
Watching my husband leave, as it were, like a soaring kite, I was brought to the edge of a cliff. He's gone; I am spinning far below and behind him. It's time for me to stop fighting with the wind that took him away. I must learn how to fly alone; to shop alone with joy, hoping for a treasure for a dear person. And I must learn quickly, for tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

Around and Around the Dinner Table

This is a Spiral about love.

A few days ago, passion overruled wisdom. Words rolled out of my mouth without any consideration for the feelings of other people. Tears fell. Apologies followed. This afternoon my telephone voice mail box held a happy message. An invitation to dinner with the persons I had failed to consider just a few days ago. The tone of the message was upbeat. I hurried to return the call. "Certainly, I'd love to have dinner with the two of you."

Though my voice said, "Yes," my head was wondering, "What's this about?" I held my peace. As soon as the meal was ordered, I heard these words, "We understand the pain you feel. We want to offer to listen to you, so that you may speak out your pain and be delivered from it." That's what this was about: An offer of solace, of comfort, of a shoulder for crying on, and a warm embrace.

I cried again. Since my doctors told me two and a half years ago about my Stage Two breast cancer, I have often cried. In the midst of treatment for breast cancer, my husband of forty years collapsed before my eyes; dead by cardiac arrest. Yes, tears have been my constant companion for 30 long months. Though I am healthy now, and have adjusted to the absence of my husband, still tears are always ready to burst from my eyes.

Now, I have someone who loves me enough to offer (even after I spoke without consideration) to walk with me through the lingering effects of sorrow and grief. For this offer, I am grateful.

I hope this Spiral goes nowhere but up.

The Spiral of the Dollar Sign

Yikes! It's December! And it's time, as any red-blooded American knows, to go CHRISTMAS SHOPPING! Time to circle the parking lot at the mall, searching for a spot near the building! Time to hike from one end of the mall to the other, struggling to find the perfect gift for each name on the list!

AUGH! I hate Christmas shopping. My mom hated Christmas shopping. I guess I picked up the hatred from her (Now there's a topic for another Spiral: How we inherit our attitudes from our parents . . . or not.). Every year, I declare I will not go out spending money I don't have to buy something for someone who doesn't need it, doesn't want it and won't treasure it. Every year I find myself panicking around mid-December when I realize people have gifts for me and I have none for them.

The question before me is this: Can I override the panic with wisdom this year? I have given gifts all year. Do I truly need to buy a trinket or remembrance to wrap and place under the tree in my living room?

Last year I avoided the trap of overspending by running away from home. My name had just been added as a member of the exclusive club of widowhood. My husband of forty years died last year. He was a true believer. Christmas was for him the highlight of the year. Crowds, shopping, gifts, food, parties: he loved them all. I couldn't confront Christmas without his laughter and antics. So I went far away and stayed away until the holidays were finished.

This year, I am further along my grieving path. I already have the tree decorated and the little Victorian village on the bar with its electric lights softly illuminating the den. I'm not going to run away. But the dilemma of shopping stops me dead in my tracks.
I don't have the answer, and I'm still on the spiral.

I'm not a Scrooge. I love giving. My salary as a school teacher covers my mortgage payment, tithes and offerings. There's a little left at the end of each month. Yet, is it wise to participate in the giving frenzy (That word reminds me of sharks tearing into prey, teeth dripping blood.) generated by advertising, culture, tradition and peer pressure?

When my husband died, I was struck with the idea that a person who lives by faith need never worry about finances. By its very nature, faith is identified with trust. If I trust God, and believe He is ABLE to meet my needs, do I have the faith to make my actions match my words? Well, yes, I believe I do.

So, what do I do now that December is here? Shop or not? What would you do, if you stood in my shoes? Let me know. I'll let you know what I decide once the time has come to resist or succomb to the temptation to shop. Still spiraling tonight . . .

Tracing the First Spiral

What led to the creation of this Tracings blog?

A Spiral, of course. My friend Neil has a blog. I enjoy reading it. My friend Rachel has a blog. She and her husband write about events in the life of their son who is very ill. My son encouraged me to find an audience by creating a blog.

I love to write. Words, I find, almost push themselves from my pen onto paper. They want to be READ! A blog is public. Easy to find. And best of all, a blog is read often.

My dream, then, is to write words that will be read. Read and considered. Considered and appreciated. Or challenged. It's really up to the reader to choose a response.

Today's Spiral compelled me to the keyboard. It was a DOWNWARD Spiral; not at all my favorite kind. A conversation during a joyful reunion turned hurtful. Pain swallowed joy. Tension consumed comfort. Tears washed laughter away.

How did this happen? There was no plan for causing offense. Suddenly, the balmy air became hot with words. "Defend." "Selfish." "Always." "Ridiculous." The words killed the conversation. The scraping of shoes on the floor covered the shocking silence. Doors opened and closed. The party was over.

Where am I going with this Spiral? To the bottom. That's where I learned the lesson. And not for the first time. I wonder how many times I will find myself at the bottom of a Spiral with this lesson tumbling down toward me, and how long it will be before I finally catch it to hold on to it.

Maybe today I caught it firmly. Here is it:

When I have the sensation of standing on the cusp of a disagreement (especially a disagreement with someone I hold dear), I (and I'm only speaking for myself, not preaching with pointed finger. . .) I must begin to ask questions rather than speak my mind. When I ask questions, I must listen to the responses. The responses should lead me to more questions. If I can grasp this concept - this difficult operation of listening when everything within me wants to be speaking - there is the wonderful possibility of completely avoiding arguments. Of liviing peacefully. Of ending parties on the same joyful note with which they began.

Wouldn't that be a fine Spiral to trace?