half-lit tree...half-lit me

The picture on the left is our Christmas Tree. A few days ago, the lower sets of lights stopped working. I have to say I'm glad it is the lower half--that way the tree still looks nice from the outside, through the window. You can't even see that the bottom half is dark.

Christmas Tree lights are different than I remember them when I was growing up. As a child, I remember that when my dad would get the box of Christmas lights out, my mom would bustle us kids away for a few hours while he sorted them out. The sorting our process involved laying each string out (and we had TONS!) and plugging them in. If a string didn't light, dad had to crawl along the string and check each bulb individually. This was a tedious and frustrating process involving much language my mom didn't think our tender ears needed to hear!

Today's lights are somewhat more forgiving. We have strings of lights that have a few bulbs that don't light, but they don't seem to keep the string from lighting. I guess they are only slightly loose or something. This seems like progress until you get the lights strung on the tree and then one bulb comes out or is loose enough to take out the whole string. Here's the trouble: it's much easier to check each bulb on a string that is laid out on the floor than it is to try to follow a winding string of lights through a tree!

So, our tree stays half-lit. It only shows if you come into our house while it's switched on. If you keep your distance, you can't even tell. So, not too many people know. But I know. I thought about otherwise occupying my children (because of their tender ears!) for a while so I could go through the process of tracing the string through the tree and find the source of the darkness. It seems like it would be the only way to fix this problem. But, I decided against it. Partly because Christmas is over and the tree would come down soon anyway, but there's another reason.

See, this half-lit tree reminds me a little of myself. At this time of year when I'm prone to looking back over my year and assessing things, I have not been seeing things too brightly. To be honest, as I wrestled for most of the year with the health issues thrust upon us with our youngest, I realize that I am pretty worn out. I think I may even have a few "bad bulbs." Most people don't realize this because they can only see the part of me that shows--like the top half of our tree that shows through our picture window. If they keep their distance, they don't even know I'm only half-lit. But I know. In fact, I realize that rather than taking time to find the "bad bulb" on our Christmas Tree, my time would be better spent in looking for the places inside me that have come loose and need replacing or tightening. I think it will be a painstaking and tedious process, but well worth it.

I'd like to go into the New Year fully lit....

rhythmic healing

A few days ago, the kids and I were invited to visit a friend's dairy farm. It was quite an experience to view the process of feeding, milking and shifting the cows from one area to another.






A big highlight for the evening was feeding the calves. This dairy had a busy month with 16 calves born! The kids were thrilled to be able to feed the babies that were only 3-4 days old. One had just been born that morning!



My friend showed us some of the developments they were making and their arrangements to move the calves' quarters to higher ground because of the propensity for flooding in our area. It's all a huge amount of work.






The whole visit was wonderfully educational and I was pleased that the kids were able to learn some things first hand about this field.


I was able to learn some things first hand, too. See, my friend and her husband recently marked the second anniversary of the death of one of their sons in a hunting accident. Because it happened on their own property, the reminders have been frequent.















I wondered how they could have managed to keep up with all the work while going through the grieving process. My friend shared that, actually, the work was their saving grace. The rhythm of all they had to do every day was what kept them going....the constant, predictable, rote, neccessary work, provided just the outlet they needed to process the pain. Besides that, cows don't feel uncomfortable if you cry when you're filling their water trough!



Sometimes I find it hard to get past difficult issues in my life. I try this and I try that and it seems like I still have trouble processing my pain. Perhaps what I need is some pattern or routine in my life to bring the rhythmic healing I need. I don't think I'm quite up to the challenge of dairy farming, but there must be some other way I can add this into my life. Generally, adding something new to my life seems daunting. I feel busy and frantic enough. This feels different, though. This type of adding will, I think, result in less panic and more peace.

wax or clay?

Over the weekend, we listened to a CD that could currently make it on the radio station's, "Classic from the Attic" segment. As much as I hate to admit it, most of my favorite music falls into this category, but that's beside the point....

One set of lyrics really stood out to me:

"the same sun that melts the wax can harden clay,
the same rain that drowns the rat will grow the hay,
and the same wind that knocks us down--if we lean into it
will drive our fears away..."

Usually when I get a song lyric stuck in my head, it's some idiotic phrase that just about drives me insane, but this one was different. It just played over and over and made me consider its deeper meanings for me.

This year has been full of sun, rain and wind for my family. As we have worked through our youngest daughter's serious health issues, it has sometimes felt overwhelming.

This lyric is a poignant reminder of my "choice in the matter" of the trials I'm facing. I don't get to choose my trials or how they present themselves. I do, however, get to choose the way I'm going to face them. It's my choice to be wax or clay. I'm in charge of whether a difficult circumstance leaves me soft and pliable--moving in the way God directs. Or, I can allow myself to become hard, dried out, cracked and ugly--an immovable visual of despair.

Today, I'm choosing wax. I want to remain moldable in God's hands. And like candle wax, I want to provide the fuel for the Light to keep shining.