Unless

This day comes around every year, and every year it makes me nostalgic for kid's books, summers rolling in the grass, and a strong sense of discomfort.  Seems a strange combination, no?
Today is March 2nd, Dr. Seuss's birthday.  Every year on this day, I read The Lorax, and every year that book and what it stands for becomes more important to me.
I'll try not to spend time re-typing it, or quoting a ton of it, except for the ending:

"That was long, long ago. 
But each day since that day 
I've sat here and worried and worried away. 
Through the years, while my buildings 
have fallen apart, 
I've worried about it 
with all of my heart. 
"But now," says the Once-ler, 
"Now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. 
UNLESS someone like you 
cares a whole awful lot, 
nothing is going to get better. 
It's not. 
"SO... 
Catch!" calls the Once-ler. 
He lets something fall. 
"It's a Truffula Seed. 
It's the last one of all! 
You're in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds. 
And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs. 
Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. 
Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. 
Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. 
Then the Lorax 
and all of his friends 
may come back." 

I cannot read that without being filled with fear...and hope.  Today, especially today, after our -ah-interesting Super Tuesday, the Lorax's message screams to me.  Yes, I know that Dr. Seuss was primarily talking about deforestation, preaching a preservation message, railing against consumerism, but every year, this passage speaks to a different place in my life.

Sometimes it's about our natural resources: we are soon to be in dire straits in the energy and climate discussion.
Sometimes it's about relationships: we forget to nourish one another quite often.
Sometimes it's about faith: the seeds of truth should be planted and nourished, helped to grow in love and mercy, and flourish.

Sometimes...like this year...it's a little bit of everything: our environment is in trouble, our relationships are struggling, our integrity as a people is failing...
It's no wonder the Lorax lifted himself up by the seat of his pants.
It's no wonder the Once-ler hides in his Lerkim on top of his store.
It's no wonder our culture wants more, more, more!

Part of me wants to run away with the Lorax,
to disappear into the air with one sad, backwards glance.

But.  (That's my favorite word, "but," there's so much potential, so much hope in that one little word.)

But, I can't.  I can't just leave.
While I identify with the Lorax, and speak for the trees,
I can't just leave, because
I'm also in charge of the last Truffula seeds.
So are you, and you, and you!

Whether it's nature, or faith, or people, or space,
It's up to us to improve this place.
We use what we have,
and learn what we don't.
and hope that one day...
the Lorax, he won't:
won't look at us with those sad, oldish eyes,
won't look at us in a way we're despised,
instead he and his friends,
they'll come back.

Love Letter(s) to the World

Beloved,

There are times I wish that I didn't love so much.  There are times I wish it were easier to separate myself from the joy, hurt, heartbreak, fear, hope.  Yes, there are many times I am grumpy, unapproachable, and rude.  There are times when I do not want to interact with other humans, regardless of how joyous they are.  But mostly, I just love ya.  All o' ya.  

When I look at you, I see daughters, sons, cousins, parents, friends, aunts, godparents, godchildren, dog-moms and cat-dads, widows, and siblings.  

I see creators, thinkers, adventurers, teachers, artists, writers, singers, builders, and discoverers.  

I see no two alike.  

I see beauty in the blue eyes, the brown eyes, the green eyes, the grey eyes, and intelligence there, too.  

I see eyes that have seen nothing, for they are new.  I see faces that have seen much, for they are old--some in years, and some in life experiences.  There is beauty in both the hope in newness, and the careful skepticism in experience.  

There is beauty here, and there is much pain.  

I see the lines in faces of fights between friends or lovers, between parents and children.  I see lines in faces from a long weary road of hardships: suffering, trials, failures, and perseverance.  

I see clouded eyes from long days in the sun, or long hours of working for sustenance.  I see clear eyes, bright with the hopes of academia and a future full of promise.  

I see hands calloused from years of manual labor, speckled by the sun.  I see knobby, arthritic hands, that still strive to complete blankets, scarves, and hats for those in need.  I see baby soft hands, searching, learning, exploring the world which is still new and beautiful.

Every line in every face is beautiful.  Every line, every eye, every hand tells a story.  A story of who you are, where you've been, what you've done, how you've seen, what you know, and for what you still search.

Yes, a line is a symbol of a struggle, a trial, a pain.  But it is also a remembrance that you've come through it.  Some tattoo these remembrances on their bodies: a symbol of a past period of their life through which they've come.  But some trials are undeniably written on your body with an ink no laser will remove.  And it is beautiful, even if it is also painful.

It has taken me time to understand that paradox: beauty from pain.  I do not think one necessitates the other.  There is beauty in something brand new, that has not yet experienced failure.  There is also beauty in the face of someone who has lived through a great trial: a world war, persecution, starvation, illness, or broken relationships.  

I look at you, and I see myself.  I see things we struggle with together.  I see the things I will never understand, or that you will never understand in me.  

But most of all, I see hope.  Or more precisely, I see you through hope.  This is different than "rose-colored glasses."  I am frightfully aware of how much imperfection is in this world.  I choose to hope in spite of it.  It is because of this lens that I know there is beauty here: in pain, in trial, in success, and in ordinary life.  It is because of this lens that I have perseverance for tomorrow, despite how dark it looks out my window.  It is because of hope that I know, in my deepest heart, that it will be okay.  You.  We.  We will be okay.  And we are beautiful.

Love,

   Annaliese

. . . 

Beloved,

I would be remiss if I were to leave the letter above standing alone.

My hope in you, in us, does not stem from some whimsy, some ephemeral desire of things being better in the future.  No.  My hope is rooted, rather unshakably, in a bigger picture.  One in which there is Right, there is Perfection, and there is Hope that we can find it all.  

Why do I understand this to be true?  If I can quickly lay out my understandings, I will try:

  1. I believe in a perfect God, who is the epitome of good, love, justice.  Who is eternal, and all powerful.

  2.  I believe that #1 has allowed His character to be accurately portrayed in the Bible.

  3.  I believe the new testament's statement that the only way to perfection is through belief that Jesus has the power to wipe the record clean of my shortcomings.  

From this standpoint, I see a hope for the future.  I see hope for erasure of the pain in this world.  I see hope for an eventual understanding of why we all have lines on our faces and callouses on our hands.  From this standpoint, I see the pain as a sharpening, a refining process for myself--and I hope it is such for you.  

Am I not a wiser person for having experienced the cocktail of trials and successes in my life?  Are you not a more beautiful person for having triumphed through that decade of fear and self loathing?  Without a gauge, for me I cannot compare who I was prior, to who I am now.  

For me--and I recognize it is not so for all--I require this measuring stick.  For what am I hoping?  Something I have accomplished?  Something I have seen you accomplish?  No.  I hope for it all.  My eyes are open, I see the hurt and the mistakes--yes.  I have made them, Lord, I have made them--I see the world for what it is.  

But because of this lens, because of a hope for things not yet seen, I see beauty in it all.  For in everything, there is hope of achieving that for which you strive. (1) 

Because of this hope, I will never give up on loving you.  On telling you you're beautiful.  Ever.

Love,

   Annaliese

(1) Much of this is spurred by Romans 8, but that is not the only place in the Bible that speaks of this stuff.

Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord

I've always been fascinated by the character John the Baptist.  He's the crazy dude at the beginning of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John that ate bugs and honey and ran around in camelskin clothes.  He was born about 6 months before Jesus was born, by one of Jesus's parent's cousins.

In all 4 accounts, he is mentioned right at the beginning as the "voice of one crying out in the wilderness, 'Make straight the way of the Lord,'" a quote from the book of the prophet Isaiah.  He is the man sent to warn people of the coming of Jesus, his Messiah.

"Prepare the way of the Lord."

This command is very heavy in my thoughts during this time of the year...every year.

The Western Church celebrates this time of year as a season of Advent:  meaning a season of preparation and expectant waiting for the [memorial of the] birth of Jesus.  It is a celebration of the beginning of Jesus's journey...and thus, the beginning of ours [Christians'].  According to the church calendar, Advent began last Sunday, on the 29th, with the first candle lit on the advent wreath: hope.  Typically, bits of Scripture regarding the bloodline of Jesus are read during the lighting.  Because of this tradition, I do not allow myself to be actively grouchy about the excitement of Christmas once Advent has begun.

Well...not aloud, anyway.

I've gone to craft stores twice this week to find candles for an advent wreath in my home, and other simple decorations (a plain pine garland?  Impossible to find without glitter and fake cranberries and snow).  Both times, I nearly got into multiple wrecks, I had to maneuver around crazy parking jobs, and I had to fight crowds to get in the door and down the appropriate aisles.
Once I reached my destination, in both Hobby Lobby and Michael's, I was accosted with pop covers of already pop-y Christmas songs, people disagreeing over ornamentation, empty shelves, disheveled half-full shelves, flashy figurines and santas, reindeer lists painted craftily on canvas, and SO MUCH GLITTER.  So much.  I didn't speak to anyone--not that I'm normally in the habit of speaking to strangers in craft stores--and yet I still found it hard to maintain a neutral facial expression.

It doesn't matter what aspect of Christmas we talk about, I can usually find something about which to be disdainful:
It's about giving!  Do you ever give without expecting anything, not even thanks, in return?
It's about family!  Ever had a Christmas family gathering without failed expectations?
It's about the decorations!  Glitter. 'Nuff said.
It's about Jesus's birth!  He was probably born earlier.  Also most of our decorations are things we took from the Pagan celebration of the winter solstice/birthday of the unconquered sun.

This does not make for pleasant, kind, graceful, uplifting conversations with...well...anyone.  So I do my best to keep it to myself.

Why then, share it here on the interwebs, for everyone to see the ugly internal dialogue I have with myself every December?
Because I hate it.  I hate that there is this much hatred within my heart for a season that brings people back to what is important to them.  I hate that I am the downer at the dinner table that spreads vitriol instead of good cheer.  I hate that my face does not reflect love and mercy when I see someone clutching handfuls of sparkling ornamentation for her home.  The rest of the world literally is on their best behavior during this season (we'll ignore the US shootings for now...subject for another time), why am I on my worst?

I need an attitude adjustment.

"Prepare the way of the Lord."

The intent of Advent is to prepare yourself, your home, your life, and your heart for the (symbolic) reception of the gift that is the birth of Jesus.  There is much preparation occurring all over Athens...as is evidenced by the forever-empty shelves in stores across town, and the forever-clogged streets.  We prepare for the coming of family, the exchange of gifts, the (hopefully) colder weather, the end of the year, the end of the year sales, the huge amounts of food we'll cook and consume...the list goes on.

Everywhere I turn I am bombarded by loud, gaudy, and commercialized gifts, sales, songs, stores, buildings, and parties.  All of those things are already against my natural inclinations...no matter what month it is.  All of those things are exponentially compounded in the month of December.  All of those things appear to me to be focused on a show that is a product of Christmas becoming a business.  The fact that any holiday can be so cheapened by--paradoxically--pouring millions of dollars into it repulses me.  The fact that our culture as a whole spends so much time with the outward signs that shout "hey look at us preparing for Christmas!" breaks my heart, because it shouldn't be about your outside.  It should be about your inside.

Jesus made it pretty clear in Matthew 6 that we are supposed to give, pray, and fast quietly so that it is a secret, not shout it from the roof or trumpet it in the streets.  Obviously, he wasn't talking about Christmas, because he wasn't quite that meta, but I would pose that his stance would be the same on this: he was pretty consistent.  This time of preparation should be about your own heart, and the hearts of those you love.  John the Baptist, that crazy, homeless, bug eating hippie, asks the most poignant question for this time of year...and for any time of year: are you ready?  Are you ready to receive the only gift perfect you'll ever receive?  Here I am, a voice crying out in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord, make his path straight.

Are you ready?  Am I ready?  Based on my grinchy attitude, I'd say "no, not yet."  So, I'm going to continue to sit in my decoration-less closet until I am.