Gingerbread Houses, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Sarah Clarkson and Other Holiday Discourse

"A man may make a Remark- In itself- a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a Spark In dormant nature- lain-  Let us divide- with skill- Let us discourse- with care- Powder exists in Charcoal- Before it exists in Fire-" - Emily Dickinson

Burn out. A word most of current culture relates to. Yet, we do not understand that our Gingerbread houses are spun out of what we also help create. Perhaps the initial ingredients are out of our hands, but the way we flourish our proverbial homes? We have some sway over the sugar and spice. Why would we choose to coat our doors in sticky ketchup (news outlets/ social media)? Why would we want our doors so stuck with information that we can barely open them up on our own? The home we make can become crumbled bits and pieces, when we try so hard to open the door we partially sealed with our own choices. We shake our own core. It can be tough to taste tantalizing sweet sugar underneath layers of tomato paste. 

Let us discourse with care. 

Evergreen. A word that expresses everlasting hope. A word that can sing beloved Christmas tunes or evoke the sparkling wonder that children are best at expressing."Welcome home," says the body that is nourished and grounded in BEING. The hand on the door, opening to a place of belonging and safety. The squished give of the mattress as it envelops at night. The light of a lamp reflecting the caring of friends, as the knots of isolation slowly become untied. The wreaths symbolizing the spiral of life. The cliches that bring us joy. The tiny, obscure miracles we forget to see, because we are too caught up in our cerebral worlds to honour the tangible Given. Yet, the breaks from ourselves are there, waiting to soothe our unbelief in the Beauty that IS, patiently waiting to give a little cheer with the words, "Welcome home."

Story. What binds us and breaks us. What heals or destroys. The words we choose can bring hope or disaster. The story we tell, no matter how dark or bright, is OURS to give. The calm inside our chaos is a promise of All that Is. "Sharing all our stories of our failures and our glories, even when our hopes got torn, We made it through the storm. And I couldn't ask for more. When I'm down, and I'm lost and I'm tired- When it feels like the whole world is on fire...Even when I feel like a mess, have to take a good look inside me Yes, In the hurts where I find the Holy I guess, I'll never be perfect but I try my best, to remember I'm blessed."- Kelly Clarkson

Charts. Can something so clinical be a balm? How does one reframe a moment? In emotion? In intellect? In spirit? In Body? One piece neglected takes from the whole. Can you smell joy? Can you feel a word? Can spirit be rooted?  Can a body connect to other realms? Can we meet in the middle? ... A room that had housed a familiar mentor was now the territory of a complete stranger. Like clockwork, almost every month, for 16 years I had met a different set of eyes. Next to the seat was an emotions chart.* Inwardly I cringed. I dismissively thought, "Of course, he knows I have Aspergers Syndrome and gave me a feelings chart. Standard textbook." But I looked into his hope filled eyes that wished to help me, and I softened. I tried to be open. It wasn't his fault his eyes were new. As the session proceeded, that chart surprised, claimed, named and comforted. Feelings need direct expression without being in the driver's seat. They are the passengers of our voyages and as such need to be treated with care but not full control. Words are just words without intent or tone. But what if the tone is not the intent? It can get messy. Words are magic and pain. Language is our greatest weapon and healer. "I wrestled. But it wasn't with God; it was with the ideas that obscured him." Sarah Clarkson.

Sad: "Fatigued/ Tired. Miserable. Despair. heartbroken. Devastated. Discouraged, Disappointed. Hopeless. Pain and Hurt. Depressed. Grief and Sorrow. Unhappy." Joyful: "Delighted. Glad- Pleased. Elated. Thrilled. Enthusiastic. Passionate. Appreciation. Thankful. Grateful. Excited. Ecstatic. Happy." Gratitude partially counters sadness, but it is possible to hold both. BOTH/ AND "Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes."- Walt Whitman.

Snowfall. Flakes can be fluffy, gentle and comforting or a blizzard, sharp and dangerous. The Sparkling white magnifies other colours. Sometimes it blinds. Can you feel a memory? Can loss be amplified by surrounding rushes of joy? The fresh start of a blank canvas or the bleak ending of a previous season? Both/ And? Dancing with ghosts; a gift or a curse? Both/ And? The bough of the branch, heavy with snow, has it's own sort of knowing.

Rooted. Spirit working in the body. Nourishment below the surface. The re making power of love. There are no empty promises here. Roots are the friends of wounded hearts. We become so much muchier when we can rise rooted. Stumble into the light of Grace. Close your eyes and feel the ground beneath your feet, your foundation of Being is here.

Wounded Healer. "We are not created for disaster nor formed for destruction, and to lament our pain is to honour the beauty God intended and yearn toward it's restoration....The point of our struggle is not to gain some sort of spiritual grit or prove our endurance. We are not asked to become grim warriors in the face of pain; We are asked to be children who will not rest until they know themselves cradled in the arms of a father who begot them for joy...toward hope...onward..."- Sarah Clarkson. The impacting, insightful leaders know that to be a healer, one has to first know what wounds feel like. Grief comes to us all. Each of us has different gifts to give, different ways to interpret, different faith stances, different stories. But we CAN become wounded healers in the smaller sense of the words. "We would rather God be neatly culpable for the evil that comes upon us, would rather believe that cancer and infant death and abuse and tornadoes are explainable as necessary to the overarching story of the world, than face the kind of ancient, true drama in which God himself weeps at the sight of what he has made, now defiled and destroyed. We are afraid to sit in the wild presence of sorrow, allowing it to whisper to us..."- Sarah Clarkson. Perhaps sorrow is like the candy hearts on a Gingerbread home? Melted little red streaks on the pristine white snow. Grief should not be explained away or a segue into dissertations of hell. Grief is a broken state when God weeps too.

Grace. "When strivings Cease." Because we will never, even the best of us, feel like we are enough. Someone will be better. Someone will have more. Someone will outlast and outlive. You may feel broken, but that is not all that IS you. Think of the lovely practice of filling broken tea cups with gold. The teacup doesn't fill itself. But it is a vessel for the golden glue to set. Isn't that a relief? With that knowing we can rest a bit...

Tis' The Season. Maybe it's Solstice or Eid or Hanukkah or Christmas or a Stat or just another day... December / January holds many holidays. "Happy Solstice" and "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays" are words that I still can not help but pass onward. I give those I love enough credit to be able to translate the sentiment, even if they do not celebrate that particular holiday. I love the Community episodes remarking on the complexities and ridiculousness of all this. Yes, we want to give others a listening ear and respect, but we can also love what we love and be what we are. In that we become full enough to learn to hear what others love and whom they are. It's pure beauty- hearing different variations of holiday goodwill.

Cheers to Christmas tunes and the feelings of childhood they evoke. Music can transcend. "Come December I confess. I want the tree full of toys and tinsel....I want the elves in the yard, each sentimental card dripping glitter on the floor, I want a roof full of plywood reindeer and a road  full of horse drawn sleighs. All those Christmas cliches... I want the gulp and the tear the moment that I hear Andy Williams being played...Not to mention the snow, not to mention the choir. Not to mention the candles in the window and chestnuts roasting on a fire...along a street bathed in twinkling white..as for the songs you hear over and over, I hope you look this one up when it plays, all those Christmas cliches."- Darren Criss

May your Gingerbread homes reflect not only whom you want to be, but whom you already are. May you make the changes you can and apply Grace to the rest. May you find peppermint bliss and spun clouds of respite amongst any grief you may carry. But most of all, may you know, you are worthy because you exist. 

Happy Holidays.

P.S.  Song Choice: Normally I don't upload private family videos on my blog but I thought my readers may enjoy a clip of our Gingerbread ridiculousness. Sometimes we send out cheesy home made videos to our friends and family. Recently we had two hours to use- thus we gathered some thrown together outfits and did a quick frolic through the song Sweet Gingerbread Man by Sammy Davis Jr. which was on the last Hawkeye episode (excellent Tv series thus far!) We were purposefully ridiculous as usual and we hope it brings you a smile…what do you think…does my husband look like David Hasselhoff with bronzer?? (His words NOT mine!) It was our only way to make a sweet gingerbread man with his halloween monk suit - ha ha. I uploaded the first minute of the video (with a few tweaks to those who already saw it.) I could not upload the full video here (I know you want more.) but the little morsel is enough to get the lyrics" All tasty and tan sweet gingerbread man" into your head. I dare you not to hum that one incessantly...just hopefully it doesn't beget the image of my husband in tights...You're welcome. Ha. Anyway, Enjoy the cheese! Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to you. May you find some sweet moments of joy and wonder where it is possible...

Full song by Sammy here:

The song I referenced at the end of my post is found below: 

All those Christmas Cliches By Darren Criss ( I loved his new Crissmas album along with Kelly Clarkson's new Christmas record "When Christmas Comes Round again" has been on repeat in my house. How can I not feel like Christmas with the opening to her first song? Wowza. I did not realize what a power house voice she had! Songs 1- 4 &12 are my favourite!):

Kelly Clarkson Christmas Isn't Cancelled (Just You):

And for a slower song that had my eyes a little misty: Merry Christmas to the One I used to know- Kelly Clarkson:

*The feelings chart:

Soulful Gifts on the Spiral of my new 38th Year. A Birthday Post.

(My sister's capture of our Northern Lights)

I look up from my computer screen to see the toenail of the moon curving eastward, sitting slightly above the evergreen tree-line across from our home. The deep, dusky blue sky is darkening and twinkle lights from the Christmas tree are highlighted in the window against the sparkling crystals. I am torn between just staring at the window, and trying to write down my thoughts as they happen. So I alternate. Because each dusk is a soulful gift.

It is later in the year for us to put up our Christmas trees due to the events of the last month. Halloween decor is a staple all year in my home, but it mixes perfectly with Christmas and Yule for me. In our province, it usually is already snowing and quite cold, but this year, the season seems to sense that people need more time to be outside. My Spirit feels deep gratitude at the wild ways of nature. Ever surprising. Ever teaching. 

November is my birthday month. Like the moon phases in the sky, I have had changing phases in my celebrations (or lack thereof.) I've had a fraught history with birthdays. I love gifts. Both expected and surprising...but I have struggled at being the center of expectation. But after almost 38 years, I have finally reframed my birthday. I view time as a cyclical spiral instead of a linear line. For some reason, I oddly did not apply my overall view to my birthdays. Instead I saw them as one more year behind, and another year trudging towards my inevitable aging and demise. How did I not untie my cares around an important event in the cycle? How did I not see, that my life seasons are cyclical too? The Wheel of the Year speaks to my soul. There is a welcome home in each mark of the season. Each season teaches, gives and begets another aspect of God breathed creation, the wildness of nature, and the pure gifts and hardships of unique time scapes. 

Seasons reflect spirituality. Seasons are in friendships where the ebb and flow mimic the ocean tides. I see pictures of myself, in various forms, and I realize that forgetting to honour my seasons... Well, to phrase Bilbo Baggins, "It is no small thing to celebrate a life." AH LIFE! A life! Life, with it's northern lights and explosive volcanoes...beauty and destruction paired and part of the same universe. Complexity and simplicity. Joy and sorrow. We hold mini versions of these diverse landscapes inside our human shells. I am honoured to have this vessel of mine, for however long I do, it can be such a heartbreakingly beautiful world. 

While northern lights are a stunning sky painting of awe, so is every sunrise and sunset. The light in my bedroom often will be sifting through my curtains as I wake, and at a certain time, a sun symbol on my wall lights up with the actual sunlight. I often will wait to start my day until I have had a few moments to contemplate on the peace filled symbol. My children say that too often they hear, "Hey guys look, look, look, it's the sun on the sun! It will only be there for a few more minutes. Enjoy it. Savour it." Most of the time they indulge me, sometimes they roll their eyes with a grin and mock me...either way I smile.

Going into this 38th cycle, I wanted to honour a few aspects which have incorporated into this new curve of the spiral:

1. My Professor Vader Bhaer. 

I have never been a pet person nor have ever had an animal in my home. Yet now, every morning a black cat leaps on to my bed and purrs over my shoulder. Not only does he leave all my plants and decor alone, but he rubs up against my leg when the pellet litter needs a change, (so my house does not smell as much as I feared) and gives me ample alone time. He loves each of my kids, only meows in the morning if he notices one of us is not up yet (he meows at that door) but otherwise is not very vocal. He rolls into me, stomach up, when I am brushing him and it's adorable. I call him my sweetheart and baby. He is the pet I always hoped to have. He was one of the greatest gifts of my 37th year. 

2. Country stuff

It's in my roots, my story, my genetics, and my heart. But some seasons I forget, neglect or am down right embarrassed of my down home roots. This time around, they have given my hope, fuelled inspiration, provided breaks of simple comfort, and given epic freedom. Plus, my guy is still so hot when he dresses up as a cowboy...which he also did when we were dating, just for me. He found a 450 dollar hat, with the label and name still in it, at the thrift store for ten dollars...and let me just say, he ROCKS it. We found boots at another thrift store a couple weeks later that fit him perfectly. Another few hundred dollars worth item marked down to 15 bucks! My house and our whole wardrobes are thrifted or gifted.

I may be a proud thrifter, moonstone wearing, symbol loving, glitter glam, candle lighting, lover of all things sparkly gal...but why limit myself to one genre of BEING?

3.) More hugs. 

The tragic day my brother in law died, I was holding our kids, his kids and family so much, that the next day, when I lifted my arm in the way that happens with hugs, I realized it was a strained muscle. My eldest son teased,"It's called hugging mom. I know it's a foreign concept to you beyond our walls." And I realized maybe those muscles need more exercise. Perhaps hugs are not fully the sensory overload I once needed strong boundaries upon? I disliked people pulling me in to their zones, smells, and textures. Sometimes, I still am not prepared or feel the need for space...but I am finding myself pulling more people in to my space willingly, and taking it for the gift of sharing exchange that it is. 

4. Sunday Soccer.

Ok, maybe I do not play...sometimes due to weather, I don't even show up as a spectator 'till it's almost over. But I can see the happenings from my window across the field and hear the shouts. I love the community of it. I love seeing normal life participating in team work. I am not a sports person by any means, but I appreciate that sports can bring people together, like many other activities I may not do (like trivia games.) Being a witness to a flexible type of sport, where it's not about competition as much as it community building, allowing the newbies to get the ball and learn, and encourage anyone to join, at any time, at any age...well, that is it's own magic.

5.) My kids jobs.

Honestly, we have been so blessed to find jobs that are safe, secure and within their giftings during this season. Plus, flexible in hours enough to also have school, drivers experience, and home time. This new spiral has been home to many layered phases that are built upon old growth patterns.

37 turns around the wheel. The dawn of 38 is around the next bend. I am grateful for it all. Of course, there are sprinkled memories I wish I could change a bit...but I wouldn't be whom I am today without those hardships...and this is not the perfection we ache for often. This is messy, gritty, painful, emotional yet simple, joyous, chaotically organized, euphoric, stately LIFE. My cup runneth over. Thank you dear World for so many Ace of cups moments. Thank you for the experiences which shape, destroy, protect, take and give. Thank you for shooting stars, grass stains, dandelions, twinkle lights, front porch sitting, Elvis singing, Kelly Clarkson Christmas new tuning, multiple Christmas decorating, mistake making, grace giving moments. Thank you that I do not have to earn love given freely, self improve for the sake of saving myself, or constantly prove I am worthy to exist. Although god knows, I fall into the trap of all the above regularly. But deep down, I know, at my core, that we are all worthy to exist, because here we are. 

I'm just glad to be here.

P.S. In full transparency- I’m notoriously terrible at my actual birthday day. I mourn that I don’t know what I want to eat or do or whom I am this ONE day -every.single.year. Any other day and I know exactly what I want! This year I keep my own words in my heart ( and I meant every word ) but I did get my terrible period. I was found staring into a depressive void and suddenly realizing my children were surrounding me in a Little Women style ( that luckily my hubby captured below)  

 I may have laid on the ground in pain while my family piled blankets on me… and then my daughter joined first and tried to match my facial expressions with hers, which made me laugh a lot- and each of my precious life savers joined in the antics - and immediately my day was salvaged; 

Good birthday news: remember Rasby? My thyroid nodule? For 8 years I’ve had to monitor it via ultrasound and finally it has shrunk enough to not warrant concern. I held off biopsies and such cuz I hate medical intervention if not absolutely necessary - and now I’m in the clear for malignancy ! I’m so thankful - the Specialist kept chuckling at me thanking him for some reason - but I’m happy. One less medical anomaly to worry about:) happy birthday to me. 

Song Choice: St. Patricks Day- Darren Criss "Here comes the cold, break out the winter clothes and find a love to call your own. You. Into you. Your cheeks the shade of pink and the rest of you in powder blue. Who knows what will be, who knows what we'' bring, but I'll make you this guarantee. See, No way November will see our goodbye. When it comes to December, it's obvious why... Oh we should take a ride tonight around the town and look at all the beautiful houses. Something in the way the blue light on the black night can make you feel more. Everybody it seems to me, just wants to be just like you and me. If our always is all that we gave, then we someday take that away..."