On Boredom, Gluttony, and Truffles

Today I ate six chocolate truffles.  Not the tiny, hard, waxy, grocery store kind.  

These were the velvety on the outside, cool and melty and creamy on the inside, fancy-pants, gourmet kind.

The kind that deserve to be individually plated and savored as a bonne bouche, complete with an artfully placed mint leaf and a side of marbled raspberry coulis. 

They certainly didn't deserve to disappear down a housewife's gullet in absentminded succession whilst she was lounging in her bed, halfheartedly reading a mediocre novel.

Sadly, that thought didn't occur to said housewife until she arose after her 10 minute binge and saw her comforter littered with gold papers--looking for all the world like the desolate bed of oyster shells that the walrus and the carpenter left behind them in Lewis Carroll's famous poem.

I am truly disgusted by things like this.  

What is it about human beings that makes us unable to be satisfied with just enough?  

Why, if too much is there, do we feel the need to take it anyway?  

How can we so easily become immune to the mundane marvels of sight, and sound, and touch, and taste? 

How do we take the remarkable and let it become the commonplace--something we grab and stuff into our fat faces in a fit of boredom?

Places.

Food.

Music.

Words.

A loving touch.

The sound of our children's voices.

The magnificent golden glow of a sunrise.

The taste of a perfect truffle on our tongue.

And we forget to be amazed.

I remember picking up my daughters at the children's home on the day I became their mama.

They came with the clothes on their backs and a grocery bag containing a couple of books and some stuffed animals given to them by the police officers who rescued them.  The social worker suggested we stop at the store on the way home so that they would have something to sleep in and something to wear the next day.

So we did.  

Me and these two bouncing, wide-eyed girls, shopping for the most simple of things:  a pair of pajamas, some underwear, a hair brush, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans apiece.  

 I will never forget the expression on Christina's face when I handed her a little card of hair ties.  They were ordinary, colored elastic bands and she took them from me with two hands like they were made of glass.  "For me?" she said, almost breathless.  "Just me?"

She barely let them go long enough to pay for them, and held them tightly in one chubby hand (and her new toothbrush in the other) all the way home, and looked after them like they were worth the whole world.

And she was right.  Toothbrushes and hair ties are wonderful things.  We should use them with gratitude, as we should use all the good gifts that make our lives a little more pleasant and comfortable.

Now, I understand the impossibility of going into tearful raptures over every new pen and stapler the boss hands out--at least if you want to keep your job.  And I know you cannot stop every math lesson to tell your child how beautiful his eyes are or wax poetic over the softness of every pair of socks you are wearing or the fluffiness of every bite of your pancakes.

But for heaven's sake, can we choose to savor the feel of a familiar sweater or a comfortable old pair of shoes instead of continuously plotting about how and when and where we are getting our next ones?  


Can we stop gorging ourselves on every new device/movie/artist/trend/food experience/vacation/relationship that comes along and simply find joy in the ones we have already been given?

Conversely, can we not complain about having to go to work when we have a job, or fuss over the deficiencies of our houses when we have a warm, dry, safe space to live, or rant and rave at our children when they are strong and well and living with us?

I am writing this in a random Subway restaurant as I wait for one of my kids to get out of a practice and as always, being around strangers is both an education and a reminder.  I have seen cranky, can't-be-pleased customers leave grumbling today with the equivalent of a week's worth of delicious food in tow.  Riches for most of the world.  Birthright for us. (Been there).  

I just watched a woman hork down a lovely sandwich, complete with melted cheese, crusty bread, thick slices of turkey, and enough fresh vegetables to create a steady rain of peppers, spinach, and tomatoes onto the table and into her lap.  In five minutes flat.  Without a glance up from her phone and apparently without tasting a single bite.  (Done that.  Today.)

I saw the spoiled child come into this land of plenty and wail that there was "nothing good here" and have a royal fit.  (Did that too.  But not today;)

Sadly, the hellish fusion of boredom and gluttony is not something we just inflict on food.

I have now listened to a steady hour of rotten pop songs by "artists" that somehow manage to be both musically boring and at the same time endlessly able come up with new and disgusting ways to express their voracious sexual appetites.

"Don't give me boring, predictable, comfortable, safe marital love", they croon.  "Let me use YOU to satisfy my insatiable need to feel excited and exciting.  In return, I promise to never be satisfied with anything you do, and to continuously lay my body and soul out in front of the world like a dead fish at a meat market, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination in either word or deed.

"I will shriek relentlessly (in auto-tune) about how much respect I deserve, how much power I have, and how lucky you are to be the one I have chosen to meet my immeasurable needs.

"And then I will sing about what a pig you are for getting sick of my selfishness and kicking me to the curb."

Oy.  I'm so done in here.

But before I go, I want to fully absorb this pain, and soak in the knowledge that I am cut from the the same cloth as this parade of humanity before me. 

I want my heart to hurt for them to the point of action.  I need to pray for my fellow travelers.  I need to try--however I can-- to bring light to these shadowlands. 

Because I believe the elusive land of contentment and appreciation lies somewhere between the oblivious, bored consumption of what we have and the ravenous dissatisfaction over what we don't.  

As always, I think the answer to finding it lies with the decision to re-calibrate our souls to our Maker, who offers us both the world He made and a relationship with Him now and forever.  It is within this pleasant and productive marriage that we find both wide-eyed wonder over the good things He has given and at the same time patient perseverance in the good, hard work He has called us to accomplish. 

Ecclesiastes 2:24 states,"There is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink, and find enjoyment in their toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God.” 

So step away from the diabolical twins of overindulgence and ennui and come with me! 

Let's go marveling...

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A PRAISE

Psalm 92:1-5

"It is good to give thanks to the LORD

            And to sing praises to Your name, O Most High;

      To declare Your lovingkindness in the morning

            And Your faithfulness by night,

      With the ten-stringed lute and with the harp,

            With resounding music upon the lyre.

      For You, O LORD, have made me glad by what You have done,

            I will sing for joy at the works of Your hands.

      How great are Your works, O LORD!

            Your thoughts are very deep."

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Sometimes Life Is Hard, a.k.a. "Why I Will Never Write for Hallmark"

                                                    

    Here's to the years that don't meet expectations.  

   

    The years that scratch like crumpled shirt tags 

    and pinch like too-tight shoes.

                                 

 Here's to the years that pull the curtain back and 

 shine a light onto things we'd rather not face--the 

 perfect imperfections of life that cause us to stop

 and catch our breath, lean into one another a 

 little, and gather our scattered blessings like 

 diamonds.  

 Such was this year, and from it comes this 

 slightly unorthodox, but very heartfelt 

 holiday greeting from our family-- with a picture 

 to match:)

                                              December 21, 2016

Christmas Greetings,

Normally when I sit down to write our annual letter, I am safe in my comfortable home, surrounded by the joyful sounds, scents, and sights of the season, which makes it easy to launch into the joyous retelling of events from our past year—accomplishments of the children, milestones reached, miles traveled, experiences enjoyed.

This year I wrote my Christmas letter in a hospital waiting room, while anxiously awaiting a doctor’s explanation for why Jamey had been unable to swallow normally for the past month.   

My original thinking was that it would be a quiet, uninterrupted place to write, and it that it would also help me keep my mind off how concerned I was about Jamey.  

But it didn’t work that way.  The waiting room was packed full of tired, worried faces, and after Jamey left to be prepped for his procedure I just sat there for a long time, wedged into a corner seat with my laptop balanced on my knees, staring blankly around the room as my blank computer screen stared back at me.  

Lest anyone be alarmed, let me say right here that Jamey’s scope and biopsy results came back clear and the problem was able to be treated with medication, but at that moment, I did not know what we would hear and I couldn’t think of a single notable thing to write about.

As I watched, I saw one person after another get up, hand their belongings to the one(s) who had come with them, and then pass through the double doors at the end of a sterile hallway.   

Here it was, the week before Christmas and all of us were sitting among strangers in a room full of uncertainty, contemplating a future full of question marks.  

And one word kept coming to my mind.  “Emmanuel!”   It was both a statement of what I knew, and a desperate cry from a heart begging for reassurance.  

“God, You are with us.  Please be with us!”

And suddenly I knew what I wanted to write.  And I wrote it.  But before I share it with you, I want to say that I hope the tone of the following letter does not strike people as too heavy.  

 My intention was not to pull everyone’s spirits down, but rather to say this:  Some years are more lighthearted and the focus of the holidays can be on the fun and frolic.  Some years are weightier, and actually I have found the Advent season to be even more precious in those times because the truth behind it comes like a lifeline into a dark sea.  

 

Truly, “the people walking in darkness have seen a great light!”  And so, here is my waiting room Christmas card--

“It is the week before Christmas, and the short update on our family is that we are under the care of a wise and loving God.  We spent the year learning better how to love and serve one another, growing in grace and knowledge, discovering things about the world and about ourselves, and adapting to the road before us.  

We also spent time disappointing each other, forgiving each other, attempting new things, and sometimes backtracking.  Like everyone, we made mistakes and (hopefully) learned from them, experienced joy, laughed at each other and ourselves, and cried over hurts and disappointments.   

Jamey and I continue to be amazed by what God teaches us through our children.  They are a delight to us and we are grateful for what they have added to our lives. 

 I continue to be amazed by my husband and his ability to balance the ministry of medicine with his family and civic responsibilities—all while navigating a fairly constant stream of health-related setbacks.  Talk about bearing the burdens of others!  He has been a beautiful example of this to all of us, and we are so grateful for him.

This brings me to today.  Some events clear your thinking.  Some cloud it.  Some put things into perspective and some make you change your perspective entirely.  This particular setback in Jamey’s health is one of those events.   

Among other things, this has been a week of trying to protect my children from the possibility that this day could radically change our lives.  As I went about the business of making lunches, explaining math concepts, laughing at jokes, listening to problems, mediating disputes, marveling over accomplishments, doing laundry and doing hair during the last few weeks, I carried a boulder on my shoulders.   

It was made of “what ifs” and “what thens”, pain, fear, sadness, and as I looked at my children’s happy faces, I wanted nothing more than to be sure that none of that weight fell on them even one second sooner than it had to.  

Because I knew it might have to.  Even as I write, I know it might have to.

For me, everything is theology.  And theology is very often mirrored in the mundane.  It just so happened that the season of Advent, the season of “Emmanuel, God with us”, hit perfectly for me this year.  My month of carrying a lonely burden so that my children wouldn’t have to reminded me so much of the way God shoulders the weight of things that would crush His children.   

He took on fear and sorrow and flesh to carry the weight of my guilt and sin.  He took on death to deliver me to life.  He took on shame to give me an inheritance of mercy and grace that I could never have earned.  

He gives me His Holy Spirit to comfort, guide, and instruct me when I don’t know my own mind.  He veils the road before me so as not to overwhelm me, allowing me to –like my children this week—have real joy even as He holds the knowledge of impending sorrow, struggle, and pain.  

And when I do have to walk through the valley, He stays by me as my comforter, protector, and friend. 

 This is not wishful thinking.  For anyone who does not know the beauty of being loved by the God of the Universe, I pray you will find Him, know Him, and learn to love Him.  His love is real.  His power is absolute.  His goodness is perfect.  And I can say that even when my future is full of question marks, because He has proven Himself to me as my Abba Father from the time I was a little child, and I trust Him to carry me through.

In John 10:10-11, Jesus says, “I have come that they may have life, and have it in all its fullness.” 

This is my story.  He is my life, my hope, and my true home.

 We came from somewhere.  We are here for a purpose, and the business of life is to find it, and hopefully find the One who can make sense of it for us, and ultimately bring us home safe to Himself.  

 If you are curious, or skeptical, or cynical, or maybe you just need a reminder about the One whose birth we are celebrating this season, would you take a few moments, open the book of John and just read?   

My hope is that you would open your heart this season to the God who gave up heaven to come to this tiny, pain-wracked planet—this terrestrial “waiting room”-- to give us good news. 

***********************

So there you have it.  

In His mercy, this year our fears did not become reality, but when someday they do—and that day WILL come for all of us--those truths will remain the place where we can stand.  

As you gather your dear ones to you this season, will you remember all those who did not get good news this year, as well as those who are living in persecution, poverty, loneliness, and pain?   

The truths of this season are for them, and we are the ones called to bring the good news and to love them as Christ has first loved us.  May that be our story this year, and every year!

For anyone interested in following the Birmingham clan’s daily adventures and misadventures, please friend us on Facebook, follow us on Instagram, or check out our family’s blog at:

jdbirmingham.blogspot.com    

Or just stop by!  Jamey will make coffee, I’ll pull up some chairs or take you on a stroll through the gardens, and if you’re lucky Rebekah and Christina will bake you a pie.   

Also, Isaiah and Kaiden will tell you everything you ever wanted to know about Cadillacs, Ford Raptors, and Dodge Chargers, Keira will draw you 10 pictures, Elijah will introduce you to Brutus, and Jude will probably show you a frog.   

Come anyway;) We’d love to see you!

Much love from the Birminghams 

 

Galatians 4:3-7

“So also, when we were children, we were enslaved under the basic principles of the world. But when the time had fully come, God sent His Son, born of a woman, born under the Law, to redeem those under the Law, that we might receive our adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying out, “Abba, Father!” So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, you are also an heir through God.”

John 3:16

“For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”

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