Illumination

Something terrible happens in the mind of every little child when the lights go off at night. Evil creatures lurk behind every curtain, monsters crouch under the bed, villains lie in wait inside closets, and shadows flutter to reveal endless opportunities for fear to creep into the imagination.

Once that moment has come-- once the tree outside turns into a monster with long, spindly fingers, or the creaking noise in the hallway becomes a softly approaching ghost-- there is nothing that can be done to undo that transformation. Nothing, of course, except for someone to turn on the lights and reveal the phantoms for what they really are.

Fear is a funny thing. We can know something to be true-- absolutely true-- but once fear has snuck in, it is almost impossible to believe anything else, without the help of some outside force. I confess (and this is embarrassing) that every time Chris is late coming home from a bike ride-- even though I know he is fine-- I start imagining scenarios of phone calls from hospitals, funeral services, and life without him. Nothing-- no amount of reasoning or laughing at myself-- except seeing him walk through the door can erase my crazy thoughts & fears.

I have been dealing with my own fears-- my "monsters under the bed" for some time now. Despite a loving husband, friends & family, despite years of counseling & hours of Dr. Phil (just kidding-- I've never actually watched Dr. Phil... but maybe I should?), I just can't seem to convince myself that there's nothing lying in wait out there.

And here, dear friends, is what I am afraid of: I am afraid of failing, afraid of being alone; afraid that something will go horribly wrong, and I will discover that I am unworthy of love.

A big confession, I know-- but isn't that really what we're all afraid of in the end? Doesn't everyone live with the fear, to some extent, that they don't measure up, that they won't be accepted, that they will fail & be left alone with no one to love them? I'm sure that the healthy, well adjusted, mature adults among us aren't as plagued by that fear in the same way as a 12 year old at a school dance-- and maybe that's all maturity really is?-- but I am sure that at one time or another, we all wrestle with those fears.

Mine come in waves, and are often related to my job & fears of failure. I am in the unusual position of working with my husband and being a professional Christian-- so if I fail at work, I let down not only spiritually budding students & interns, but also my spouse and God. Sheesh! If only I could work at Starbucks and have my failures be limited to cappuccinos and lattes. But I digress.

Over the last several weeks, I could feel those fears mounting up, silently growing under the surface and breeding doubt & insecurities. I would see myself in other people's eyes-- God's, students', co-workers'-- and imagine that they saw failure in me. It wasn't an overwhelming sense of fear or shame, but rather a faint shadow that tainted my vision in a barely perceptible way.

And then one day, something changed. It was as though someone walked into the room and turned on the lights, revealing the monsters & demons for what they really were. I decided that I was tired of listening to lies, tired of living under that cloud. I decided to walk away, and stop believing them.

There have been moments of clarity in my life where Truth is so very True that it illuminates everything around it until it feels as though you could never doubt again. This was one of those moments. Suddenly, all the things I had been believing about myself felt so small and empty, and everything felt free & light, now that I was out from under the weight of all those phantoms.

Oh, the freedom to just be me-- to be able to live out my relationships & responsibilities in the open spaces of myself, without the constraints that my fears & insecurities unknowingly brought. It just felt right.

As I write this now, it has been almost 2 weeks since that moment, and I am sad to admit that the fears & the shadows are slowly creeping back-- as I knew they inevitably would.

I am reminded of my little nephew who cried & cried one night because of the ghosts in his room. When the lights were turned on, they revealed cobwebs blowing in the draft of the window, and once he knew the truth, he was able to go right to sleep, even with the lights turned off. If only all of our fears worked that way.

I know that my fears & insecurities are simply cobwebs & shadows-- I have seen them in the light, and I know that they have no substance. And yet, when it gets dark, they still can hold a certain power over me. Can any of us ever truly escape those dark fears? I think the most that we can do is fight off the shadows & wait in hope for the moment when Someone turns the lights on. Because, really, I think it takes that outside force to chase our fears away-- bringing the illumination & clarity that somehow allows us to push through our fears.

And so, I keep pushing, remembering that moment of Truth, when I just knew that, if nothing else, I am wholly accepted. In the end, that's all I need to know.

A Simple Plan; Thwarted

There is a precious commodity that every San Franciscan covets. Just as the value of, say, a banana increases exponentially in the Arctic, verses in a tropical jungle, so the simple laws of economy-- supply & demand-- are present in my fine City.

I am talking about Space: whether it be a parking spot, or simply the elbow room to stand in any given part of your home without being able to reach out & touch every article of furniture you own, Space is a valuable item here.

There is a never ending Tetris game that exists in San Francisco, where everyone I know battles with their square footage-- re-arranging furniture, scouring Craigslist, BARTing to Ikea, and jealously eying each other to see how the Jone's are keeping up.

I imagine that New York is even worse-- that if you could find a way to bottle up a square foot at a time and sell it on the streets, you might even start a riot eclipsing the Tickle-me-Elmo craze, while City Dwellers scratched & clawed at one another to add just a little more Space to their lives.

I confess that I am not immune to the fantasies of what life could be like with just a little more Space. I admit that I have secret, wishful dreams about what I would do with a second bedroom (oh, imagine the utter extravagance! Like winning the Lottery!), or even what it would be like to have two people in the kitchen at the same time. I decided just the other day that in order to make room for my boots to line up in our closet, I need to get rid of a stock pot in our kitchen (I'm not joking! Our ice cream maker has no where else to sleep but on our closet floor, and if we got rid of a stock pot, we could put the ice cream maker in the kitchen, and I could line up my boots in the bedroom closet, rather than cramming them in awkward piles.).

Every now and then-- especially when we have been out of town for a while and come home with fresh eyes to really see our apartment-- I find new energy & creativity to re-invent our living space, making it more efficient & roomy.

It all started with a Simple Plan: if we got rid of our TV, we could eliminate the clunky stand it sits on, and... [you can feel the seductive siren call, the very thought welling up like fireworks]... create more *Space*. We would replace our obtrusive TV with our flat panel computer monitor for watching movies, eliminating the temptation to waste time in front of the tube, while freeing up some precious Space.

That's when it all fell apart. What would we do with that Space? We can't just leave it there-- that would be wasteful! And what about when we use the computer and watch a movie at the same time? What began as a simple plan turned into a complete overhaul. In a matter of days, we had every material belonging in our Living Room stacked, re-arranged, thrown out, or in limbo somewhere in between (mostly the latter). I spent hours-- probably days-- searching through Craigslist, visiting thrift shops, measuring each inch of floor space & moving every piece of furniture.

And then, like a miracle, it all came together. I found Chris' ultimate fantasy: a big, over sized leather arm chair to grow old on. It matched our couch perfectly, and it was only $50. Hooray for Craigslist! Suddenly everything came into focus. We raced out, hastily handed over our $50 and marched our prize down to the car.

The only problem was that Chris' beautiful new/used armed chair was about 2 inches too tall to fit in our non-SUV. No matter how much we pushed, or how many angles we tried, it just wouldn't go in that little car. However, when the very bottom of one side of the chair was squeezed in through the hatchback, the bottom of the other side rested comfortably on the bike rack/trailer hitch. Hmmm, why not? We said to ourselves

With only about 5% of the arm chair actually inside the car, we drove off with the rest of it precariously balanced on the bike rack (with the aid of some ratchet straps)... and did what any rational San Franciscan would do: we went to the beach. (Well, we were only a few blocks away, and our poor dog hadn't been outside at all that day!). When we finally made it home, cleaned up our treasure (and found a few dollars in change under the cushions-- meaning that the chair only cost about $48!), we laughed at the thought of fitting this ginormous armchair into our apartment. But I would not be defeated. I believed in my plan.

The chair sat out in the foyer for a few days while we did mental Rubic's Cube with the furniture inside. After much turmoil, we finally landed on our solution: a flat panel TV and a tiny cart to put in on (I'll save you the gory details of our Salvation Army searches, our TV research, the painting & re-wiring & re-arranging that took place for that minor miracle to occur).

In all, we ended up with a gorgeous leather arm chair, a flat panel TV, a rolling wooden cart, and a new sense of space & openness for only $248 (more than we intended to spend, but it was our Christmas present to each other). Not bad, when you consider how jealous our friends will be, now that we have room for a couch, a dining table and an arm chair in our living room. Of course, we still can't find a place for our plants & our stereo, we have to re-arrange our furniture every time we want to watch TV, and my feng Shui is all messed up from an off-centered picture that we still haven't re-hung after the room's re-configuration.

But, as I sit on that fabulous leather arm chair and survey our new & improved room, I have an air of satisfaction, knowing that I succeeded at squeezing out every last drop of Space that this apartment had to offer (once I get rid of my stock pot, of course).

Hello, Old Friend

There is something delicious and comfortable about old friendships-- the kind that feel like a conversation left off in mid-air and resumed again, even if its months or years later.

They are the kind of interactions that don't require explanations, background stories, or wading through the niceties of small talk, and can skip directly to the heart of the matter. History, knowledge & shared experiences wash away self-consciousness in those moments, and we are free to simply enjoy each other.

It's a shame, really, that the rest of life can't operate in the same way. Some aspects of life are just like riding a bike, and some require that awkward breaking-in phase all over again, no matter how many times you've done it.

Incidentally, my brother hates the expression "Just like riding a bike", because all though he was a champ on two wheels as a kid, he somehow digressed, and would most likely need training wheels again, if he were forced to resume his cycling carer. Which is my point, exactly.

I don't think its fair that just because one hasn't exercised in a few weeks, one's body acts as though physical exertion is something completely foreign and alien, some new entity that it has never encountered (I am speaking hypothetically, of course). I don't think it's fair that, come Monday morning, it's as though no alarm clock has ever dared to wake you up before dawn-- just because two little weekend mornings have snuck in and [gloriously] interfered with your routine.

Why is it that all renewal in life can't be more like an Old Friend? When we return to the gym after Christmas, why can't we say to the elliptical, "Hello, Old Friend", or greet the alarm clock with the same easy comfort & closeness?

This last week has been a push to welcome back the rhythms and routines of life, and one Friend in particular has been especially hard to start a conversation with. Recently, I have found Writing to be such an easy friend-- a natural outlet I gravitated towards & felt at home with; a place where I found & liked myself. But over these last several weeks, it seemed as though our conversations had dried up and become tired & forced-- more like an old, worn out marriage than a warm, fuzzy friendship.

Let the records state that I am horrible when it comes to discipline & longevity. From more recent relationships-- like knitting & embroidery-- to ancient ones-- like playing the viola & horse-back riding--I tend to be more of a sprinter than a marathon runner.

Yes, it seems as though the Thrill is gone-- that the well of creativity is dry, and I am left wondering What Went Wrong? I have decided, though, that Writing is worth sticking with, despite the hard work & awkward silences. Even though I feel that I have nothing to say, even though those first conversations feel forced & artificial, I know that if we keep talking, we'll find our way back. So then, I will continue forcing my hand (literally), trusting that it will get better.

Binge, Purge & Equilibrium

One of those early childhood memories came back to me this morning-- the kind that is made up of thoughts & feelings, more than colors, words, or details. I remembered being on a swing that felt impossibly high-- the chain reaching the cross bar somewhere in the stratosphere, up there with my proud feeling of accomplishment.

You see, my cousin, who was (and still is) a few months older than me, had already mastered the envious skill of being able to "pump"-- to swing himself on the swing, without the help of his mother. But on that fine day, something clicked inside my little brain, my body suddenly understanding the art of swinging, and I was able to control my own rocking back & forth. It was a glorious moment. I was sure that the other children in the playground were green with envy as they observed my freedom & independence.

I remembered this major accomplishment this morning as I was reflecting on the current state of my life-- and sadly it has much more to do with the feeling of swinging back & forth than reaching some new crowning glory. You see, the last several weeks have been feeling a bit like a pendulum swinging between overwork & gluttony; bone-tired semi-consciousness (from too much activity) and groggy headed muddled thoughts (from a lack of activity).

Our schedule has been full lately-- but not simply full of activities, full (chock full) of people. I used to be a little social butterfly, never able to get enough of conversation & company. Somewhere along the road, though, that butterfly crawled back into her cocoon & just wanted to stay there. It's not that I have lost my love for people-- it's just that I need a lot more time to re-charge in between uses now (like an electric toothbrush, or something).

Picture for me a wagon. Inside that wagon are all kinds of wonderful ways to recharge-- long walks with my hubby (okay, I know you can't take a long walk inside a wagon, but it's a metaphor, so roll with me on this one), creativity, writing, reading a great book, baking, and all sorts of other lovely restorative activities. This wagon is organized, disciplined-- balancing work with rest, knowing when to quit and what it needs to maintain equilibrium.

Well, my friends, I am sorry to say that I have fallen off the wagon. Gone are the days of Maintaining with 5 minute clean-up's, of date nights with Chris, nice long hikes or bike rides on the weekends, or any sort of creativity what-so-ever. Lately, life has looked more like a series of binging & purging-- packing our schedules until my brain is melting out of my ears, then crawling into a cave until I feel a little like Gollum.

I swing myself one direction until I hit excess, and then I swing myself back in the other direction, finding a whole new extreme. The floor in our tiny apartment becomes hidden under a physical manifestation of my lack of balance, I eat terribly because chocolate just feels so right when things are crazy, my clothes grow tighter, I start to hate the mirror, I don't have time or energy for long walks, working out, or creativity, and am reduced to falling asleep in front of the TV most weeknights. It's a vicious cycle, I'm telling you.

I recently witnessed a humorous living parable of my jerky attempts at balance. We have this [absolutely insane] friend who ran a 50 mile race last weekend... up a mountain. He trained for his race by entering two marathons every weekend (I always thought overly zealous health nuts trained for marathons-- not with marathons). But I digress...

He completed his titanic race and celebrated with a huge party that night. When we arrived, he was sitting in an arm chair, a celebratory beer in one hand and an IV bag connected to the other. After cringing & wanting to vomit (I hate needles), I discovered that our nursing friends had hooked him up to the IV to make sure he stayed hydrated while he drank. We joked about the one balancing the other out, but inside I was thinking a little of my own nonsensical attempts at finding equilibrium. I do the same thing, really... but I'm working on it.

Tonight, the floor is visible & clean, the dog is bathed, the bath tub scrubbed (I even bleached the shower curtain liners), and we had a healthy, home-cooked meal three nights in a row. Not to mention the fact that I made chocolate pecan clusters for the neighbors, and created the most incredible giant 3D snowflake. And although those might be small, surface symptoms, it helps me to feel like I'm banishing the chaos, and help to restore my insides just a little (well, making snowflakes & pecan clusters is restorative... scrubbing the tub is not as much). Things are looking up.

I may not be on the wagon yet, but I'm at least dragging behind, moving in the right direction (like in an Indiana Jones movie, or something). The next several weeks are going to be a challenge: when I look at my schedule, I foresee way too many opportunities to fall into the binge-and-purge routine (isn't that what Christmas & New Year's Resolutions are all about?). But I'm going to work hard to maintain that healthy balance... wish me luck.

Christmas [Season] Eve

I love Seasons. One of the only things I love more than Seasons are Holidays, because they seem to embody a certain season, concentrated on a particular date, that gives us an excuse to decorate & host parties & associate sights & smells & tastes with that particular day.

Just close your eyes and think about the 4th of July: sand & sunshine, the smell of sunscreen & BBQ, and the taste of watermelon. Or Easter: little girls in pastel dresses, grass under high heeled shoes, the vinegary smell of dyeing Easter Eggs & the taste strawberries with whipped cream.

Even though we live in California, and the passing of the seasons looks more like switching from bikinis to wearing scarves with your tank tops, rather than a shift from raking leaves to shoveling snow... even still, I love that subtle transition from one season to another. I love going to a Farmer's Market in late Spring, and seeing berries, corn & peaches overflowing from the carts, and I confess that I get a little giddy & my voice goes all squeaky in the Winter when I see that Eggnog Lattes have made it to the menus of my favorite coffee houses. Yes, I suppose that Seasons are just a marketing ploy in California, but I'm a happy consumer, none the less.

Since we've moved to Northern California, I have actually experienced a tangible change in the seasons every year, and there are many months where one can usually find me curled up in our hallway, fighting our dog for room in front of our one, ill-placed heater.

Despite the fun of sand & watermelon, and despite my complaints about the cold in our drafty apartment, I have to say that this is, without a doubt, The Most Wonderful Time of The Year. When Halloween decorations start popping out & I get the uncontrollable urge to eat candy corn & carve pumpkins, a clock starts counting down in my mind. Yes, I love Halloween, and Thanksgiving is the most delicious meal of the year, but I can't help the feeling of impending Joy as Christmas approaches.

The other night, Chris & I came home from work at around midnight, and as I dragged myself through the door, I dug the mail out of our overstuffed mail box. Suddenly, my fatigue left me, as Martha Stewart arrived in her full Christmas Glory on the cookie-filled pages of her magazine. Ever since then, the sky has been bluer, Chris has become increasingly charming & wonderful, buying a car sounds like a whole lot of fun, and my heart feels light & happy. Oh, Christmas, how I love you.

In a few days, we will drive down to Southern California for a conference, followed by days & days of zipping around Orange County freeways, stuffing ourselves at numerous Thanksgiving feasts, as well as buying a new car. And, I tell you, I couldn't be happier about it. Hooray for seeing friends & family; Hooray for turkey & cranberries & pumpkin pies; Hooray for baking till our fingers fall off. Who cares that it's 90 degrees in LA right now with Santa Ana winds? Thanksgiving is here, Christmas is on it's way, and the Season is Bright.

You might have noticed that I tend to experience Seasons & Holidays particularly through food. I hope there's not an unhealthy fascination there-- although I definitely know that eggnog lattes are unhealthy. My two new favorite late-Autumn/Early-Winter meals are shared below... neither of them are too terrible unhealthy. Enjoy-- and happy Christmas Season Eve.

Roasted Vegetable Salad:
2-4 servings

• Make a trip to Trader Joes & buy the following: 1 bag of pre-cut Butternut Squash or Sweet Potatoes, 1 Bag of mini-Zucchini, 1 bag of baby Carrots, 1 tub of Grape Tomatoes, 1 Onion, 1 head of Garlic, 1 tub of Goat Cheese & one bag of Mixed Greens.
• Preheat oven to 400 degrees
• In a baking dish, toss the Butternut Squash/Sweet Potatoes, Zucchini, 1/2 the Carrots, a handful of Tomatoes, 1/2 a sliced Onion, 5 whole cloves of Garlic with a few glugs of Olive Oil, a few splashes of Balsamic Vinegar, Salt & Pepper. Bake for 30-45 minutes, until the carrots and butternut squash are tender.
• Divide 1/2 the Salad mix on plates, and spoon roasted veggies on top, using the extra juices as salad dressing. Sprinkle with a little Goat Cheese & enjoy!

Green Onion Risotto (from Epicurious)
2-4 servings
Ingredients:

• 4 cups (or more) low-salt chicken broth
• 2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) butter (I use less)
• 1 bunch green onions, white parts finely chopped, green parts thinly sliced
• 1 cup arborio or medium-grain rice
• 1/2 cup dry white wine
• 1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
• 2 tablespoons Fat Free Half & Half (from Trader Joe's)

Preparation:

• Bring broth to simmer in medium saucepan over medium heat. Reduce heat to low and keep warm.

• Melt butter in large saucepan over medium heat. Add chopped green onions and cook until soft, stirring often, about 6 minutes. Stir in rice. Add wine; cook until almost all liquid is absorbed, stirring frequently, about 2 minutes. Add 4 cups broth, 1 cup at a time, cooking until almost all broth is absorbed before adding more, stirring frequently, until rice is tender but still firm, about 20 minutes. Stir in sliced green onions, Parmesan, and Half & Half. Add more broth by 1/4 cupfuls as needed if dry. Season with salt and pepper.

**You can also serve 4 people a yummy, filling meal by combining these 2 recipes-- there should be more than enough, 'cause this is a super filling, vegetarian meal =)

Shoppers Remorse

Shopping is supposed to be fun. Unless I'm having a yucky Fat Day or I can't seem to find anything interesting in the stores, I tend to be one of those girls who enjoys shopping. I definitely love getting new things. Even a new tube of toothpaste or bottle of shampoo elicits a tiny thrill for me, and I have to confess that I actually enjoy grocery shopping-- all those pretty fruits & vegetables & endless opportunities for creativity in the kitchen. I've heard that a special little Happy Button goes off in most people's brains-- a chemical reaction that produces joy-- when they buy new things.

So why is it that for the last week or so, I have had a pit in my stomach with all the shopping I have been doing? No, I'm not going back on my Christmas resolution or getting caught up in new clothes-- we are in the market for a new car.

Every time I say those words I get understanding nods & sympathetic looks (and, of course, advice). I thought that shopping for a new car would be fun-- like getting a new tube of toothpaste, only exponentially better. It turns out that I would rather just get the toothpaste.

It seems as though our entire world is revolving around cars-- researching, crunching numbers, looking into loans, talking about money, test driving, trying to shake off the grime of skeazy car salesmen. Chris & I decided we were going to spend quality time together the other night-- not talking about cars or watching TV, but just being together. We couldn't think of a single thing to do. We sat on the couch, staring off into space, sipping our tea and trying to avoid what was on both of our minds: The Question of Which Car to Buy?

It should be pretty straight forward: look at a few reports, drive a few cars, talk to some friends & family members who are more knowledgeable than I, and make our choice. But it seems that no one can agree on what the best car for us might be.

Just when we thought we had our choice nailed down (a Toyota Matrix), I suddenly got cold feet. I don't want a car. I just want my Isuzu Trooper-- my 14 year old, 200,000mi, clunky, gas guzzling, ready to fall apart at the seams Trooper. I love that thing. Who wants an expensive, dinky, trendy little car when I can keep Old Faithful? Well, that's just the thing: I can't keep Old Faithful, and all roads seem to lead down the path of new car smells. No more throwing the dog in the back of our SUV after a romp at the beach, or hauling Craigslist couches around, or driving over curbs when parallel parking, or off-roading in Big Bear. I guess maybe that's part of growing up.

It's not just that I'm being whiney and adverse to change. The truth is that I'm scared. It makes me ill to think of spending so much-- and whether its new or used, it feels like a lot of money, when we go out to the movies about 4 times a year & buy our wine at Grocery Outlet.

There are a hundred reasons why we should get a new Toyota Matrix (which I have gone over so many times that I just can't bear to type out in explanation-- but trust me, it makes sense on paper), and especially to buy it within the next 2 weeks (yikes! Those darn Dealer Incentives). But when I just want my big, boxy SUV, it's hard to drop that kind of cash on something I just don't feel excited about.

The thing is, I want to live a life that is simple, generous, open handed & free from distractions. That's hard enough to do, living in San Francisco. I am honestly afraid that adding something so expensive just won't match up to those values. I pray & I research & I talk it over with everyone (until we're all tired of it), and I still feel unsettled.

What's a girl to do? Part of me just wants to make the decision & get it over with, so I can get my life & especially my marriage back. I can't even remember how many times in the last few days I've fallen asleep on the couch while Chris researches cars online. Nothing says Romance like Consumer Reviews or Morris the car salesman. I'm tempted to do that "say a prayer, close my eyes & spin the globe until my finger stops on my perfect destination" type of thing.

I guess, in the end, it's just a car. It doesn't define me, or my marriage, or my life. I suppose all we can do is make the best decision we know how, working together, and either be content or learn from our mistakes. That doesn't sound so bad... but it still scares me to death ;)

Advent Conspiracy

This week marked the first day of winter for me. Yes, I know, it's barely November-- but on Tuesday, the air was crisp and cold, the sun set at approximately 2pm, our house developed a frigid draft, and I actually had a wear a jacket outside during the day (something this Southern Californian can never get used to).

Not that I'm complaining-- although there will be a time for that. After all, there's nothing more delicious than snuggling under flannel sheets & a down blanket when it's frosty outside... or stocking up your kitchen with butternut squash, risotto, and hot chocolate. I'm still in that honeymoon phase where sweaters & scarves are fun & exciting and rainy weekends mean reading on the couch, while listening to our Fireplace DVD (don't make fun-- something about having that crackling fire on the TV screen actually does heat up our apartment. I swear).

But, of course, the one thing that really makes the coming of Winter exciting is Christmas. Oh, just writing that sends a little thrill up my spine, and I feel the adrenaline pumping merely thinking about setting up our little Christmas tree, listening to the Rat Pack sing Christmas carols, walking by Macy's display window in Union Square (with all the little puppies & kittens from the SPCA), and unwrapping the carved wooden nativity scene we bought in Uganda. Be still my heart. Decency and proper etiquette keep me from doing any of these things before Thanksgiving has had its turn-- but a girl can still dream.

One thing I am working hard not to dream about, though, is my Christmas wish list. Chris & I live on a pretty tight budget, and really only get new things twice a year, at Christmas and on our birthdays. Because of our parents' generosity (some would call it gluttonous spoiling), we do pretty well for ourselves, and I rarely feel want or need.

In fact, most years, as Christmas approaches, I start off by saying "I really don't know what to ask for. I have everything I need." I rack my brain and finally realize that a new sweatshirt would be nice. Oh, and I could use a pair of tights for when it gets cold... and a skirt to go with them, when I wear my tall boots. On second thought, another pair of jeans that fit under my boots would be great, too. And its always nice to take a little trip to the spa for a facial. Oh yeah, I was thinking I wanted new PJ's...

You can see where this is going. Ever since we have gotten married and my gift receiving has increased by 1/3rd, I look at my closet, post-present opening, and feel a little nauseated. Every year, I tell myself I will return some of it-- that I don't need that much stuff, and that it just breeds greed & materialism in me. To my recollection, though, I never have... and that makes my heart heavy.

Last night, one of our students showed us this great video called Advent Conspiracy. You should definitely watch it. In fact, watch it right now, before you continue reading....
I just watched it again, and it really is so inspiring.

So, in light of the $450 billion dollars spent on Christmas every year, and the $10 billion it would take to bring clean drinking water to the entire world, I have decided that I want to change the way I do Christmas. I need to think & pray about it a little more, but I know I want at least half of the opulent amounts of money spent on me over Christmas to go to the poor.

Sadly, it hurts a little bit just saying that, and I confess a part of me wonders if I will be able to stick with it. I think about all those things that my mind so easily jumped to-- the things that I want, but don't need. I think about the little thrill I get wearing new clothes, feeling stylish, and just how fun it is to have something *new*. I love it. I relish it. But I hate it at the same time. What if I could really free myself from that, and, instead, find a deeper joy in giving?

Part of me feels ashamed at how difficult it is to make that commitment. But there it is, in black & white, posted for all the world (or the 3 people that actually read this blog) to see. I don't write all of this to sound magnanimous or holy, but to share my internal struggle & to challenge others to do the same.

What do you really need?
What can you do without?
What can you give away?

These are questions I have been asking myself for a while now, and I confess, I haven't been very quick to act. Let that change now, little by little.