Confessions of a Grinch

Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store,
Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.
-Dr. Suess' "How the Grinch Stole Christmas!"

If I am honest, I've been a bit of a "Grinch" the past few Christmases. It has been a struggle to see that Christmas doesn't come from a store. I know it doesn't. Looking past all the glitz, glam, "Pins" and calendar events hasn't been that easy.

I have struggled with "shoulds." I should decorate a tree and put up lights. I should buy <insert name> a gift. I should bake Christmas cookies. I should offer to host the event. I should sponsor a family and be generous. None of these things are bad when they come from the right place, however, we are pelted with messages about what the holidays "should" be like.

Messages from businesses trying to increase sales. Messages from family trying to uphold traditions. Messages from the church about honouring the true meaning of the season. Attempting to live up to these perceived expectations often leaves me overwhelmed and struggling to balance all the expectations of the season. Holiday pressure is real. We talk about it, but I don't know if we know what to do about it.

This year my family has found ourselves in a position of less. We have had to budget more carefully. Our position of having less money to spend on the holidays has helped us prioritize and better filter the competing messages. I am looking forward to December the most I have in a long time.

I, personally, am doing less too. Fewer commitments. Less food to prepare. Fewer presents. Less stress. More time. More love. The "Grinches" and the "Scrooges" don't always need conformity - just space and love and grace, especially when the glamour of the season may allow people's pain to fall into shadow. This, of course, has me thinking about Christians.

In reading the book of Haggai, I am stirred over the prophet's message of stinginess and misplaced priorities.

“This is what the Lord of Heaven’s Armies says: The people are saying, ‘The time has not yet come to rebuild the house of the Lord.’” -Haggai 1:2 (NLT)

I don't want to be so busy doing the "Christmas things" or even the "Christian things" that I miss an opportunity for God to grow my heart or someone else's heart. I have learned that having a margin in my life allows for opportunity, creativity and provides the needed space for my relationships to grow.

Maybe Jesus isn't found on Sunday, you see,
In the same way, Christmas isn't found in a tree.

Maybe His Love isn't found in a building at all,
And rebuilding the "house" of our heart is the call.

Help me to let go of these worldly expectations,
That Your Love and Light may have enunciation.

What I couldn't post...He sees.

I was introduced to an activity for my students at school called a 6-word memoir. Life stories in six words. The students love writing the memoirs. I enjoy reading them. The 6-word memoir originated as a contest put on by the New York Times. (1)

Writing has always been healing for me, but, how do you write when there are parts too raw to share? When you don't want to timewarp back to the privacy afforded by journal writing? Transparency is important to me, but so is the ability to choose who and how much detail.

So I invite you to my life over the past two years. A series of 6-word memoirs. The missing posts and status updates of my life. They may leave you with questions I am not willing to answer. Moreso, I hope they leave you with the sense you are not alone in your struggle.

***

What I couldn't post...He sees.
by Kara Dalgleish
___________________________

September 2017.
My story starts here.

Eleven years married.

Three daughters later.

Teaching half days.

Mothering the rest.

Turned thirty-six.

Worst birthday I had.

Witness of wrong.

Dreaded the call.

Traumatized. Silent. Secret.

Prayers carried me.

Started a story.
Ending remains unknown.

*

September 2018.
Two parents working full-time.

One teaching. One pastoring.
Minimal respite.

House of cards.
Everyday cards falling.

Daughter struggling in school.
Tests. Diagnoses.

Pastor's wife.
Barge with heavy load.

Nights alone.
Tears. Knees and praying.

Witness of humanity,
flailing and failing.

Burdens of others,
sinking my ship.

Father, tow me
through this season. (2)

*

Winds change.
Time to serve elsewhere.

Husband leaving job
for new roads.

Not time to announce.
More secrets.

Keeper of all these confidences.
Draining.

Between churches.
Separated. Alone. Still struggling.

Days like years.
My vision obscured.

Headaches. Pain.
Stroke? No. Cancer? No.

No. No. No.
No. No. No.

Mountaintop God,
I'm in the valley.

*

Visits from parents
help pass time.

My unconscious remembers,
but doesn't understand.

Phantom-like memories that
Degrade my health.

More prayer. Time off.
Sunshine. Exercise.

Effort only takes
me so far.

Times change. Bodies change.
I've changed.

Mountaintop God,
moving further from me.

*

Grandparents unwell.
Regular visits with Gramma.

She and I,
victims to flesh.

"It's a good life..."
she says.

"...If you don't weaken."
It echos.

Gramma's strong.
Weak flesh. Strong Spirit.

I continue to climb
against odds.

I reach the summit,
it's vacant.

*

Summer fades.
Labour Day weekend, 2019.

Husband almost dies.
I call 911.

Pulmonary embolism.
God, where are you?

Nights are spent,
checking his breath.

Mother of newborn,
husband's my infant.

First day of school.
Legs shaking.

Carried by Jesus
and strong women.

Mountaintop God,
lives in the valley.


***

My journey over the past two years is transforming how I view the physical church's role in today's society. In my own overwhelm for healing and answers I found a lot of support from my husband, our parents, my 87-year old grandmother suffering dementia, a handful of friends, but also people who the church would identify as being non-Christians.

While my husband changed jobs we were without "church" as we knew it. In my state of abandonment from a consistent "church family," I learned a lot about people and churches. Some of these were hard truths. One truth being that we often suffer from the illness of busy-ness. I don't know how God plans to use this truth in me, but I trust that He will. I serve a God who is creative and loves me enough, that He would not only die for me, that He would reach me and surround me with love in ways that are still surprising and miraculous to me. We are figuring out the next steps in our own church ministry while enjoying being a part of a new church family.

To each of you who have seen us and extended a hand (what I believe to be the hand of Christ), whether you believe in Him or not, whether you attend church regularly or not, thank you. And, to Jesus, in heartfelt thanks for seeing me in the valley and climbing down to sit with me and guide me.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me,
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
-Psalm 23:4

***

Acknowledgments

(1) To my friend, Sarah, who introduced me to the 6-word memoir and has been a constant, daily ear throughout all of this.
(2) To my friend, Jordan, who gave the visual of boats in a sermon for a Women's Ministry evening.

The impact of your words is great and you may never know the vastness of the encouragement you give.