I avoid writing when life gets busy, messy, stressful, too much, too little, over-the-top, and a host of other reasons that never seem to matter when I flip through blogs and journals and several months of my life go unrecorded. It's sporadic and irksome, but I usually just let future me deal with those emotions. Future me has a lot to deal with, let me tell you.
Does anyone else do this? Let future them remember to buy scotch tape? Or future them can go for that jog you put off?
Maybe it's just me.
Anyway, this is my way of excusing myself for a large jump from October to 5am Christmas morning. This is a tradition I involuntarily partake in every year. Somehow my internal clock, or maybe the six year old still inside who enjoys Barbie sagas and sassy comebacks, tells me in all caps THAT IT IS CHRISTMAS AND I NEED TO WAKE UP BECAUSE PRESENTS AND SANTA AND STOCKINGS AND CHRISTMAS!!
Quite a wake-up call.
I should have expected this tradition to follow me, even all the way to Houston, Texas. Though, the upside is it has all of the factors for a Madeline writing environment: quiet house, ungodly hour, and I can listen to Fleetwood Mac all I want. Merry Christmas!
Here are some things that are currently real, but I refuse to acknowledge the reality:
-I am going to France. FRANCE.
Montpellier, France. To study abroad for 5 months.
-I still don't have my Visa, and neither does Ben.
-My family lives in Texas now?
-Second year senior lap is looking pretty probable
-My best friend is getting married 15 days after I come back from France
-I found my niche, my spot, my love, my passion,
myself in Lincoln freaking Nebraska.
I've been submerged in the sub-culture that is Christianity. At times I felt like I was drowning in it, breathing someone else's air, learning someone else's rules.
The best way I can equate all of this to myself is that it's been a quest for God, the real God. The one who loves, who has grace for me, who knocks me down from my very, very high horse. The one who cares for me, not for all of the great stuff I do and all of the bad stuff I abstain from to make the good stuff I do even better.
This wack-job system was not created by God.
God didn't create a system, but he crafted his son, an infant.
We went to a "children's mass" (on accident, really) and it was full of laughing kids, crying babies, squirmy toddlers, breathless parents, and five very giggly Smiths. It was less than focused, but I loved it. If you know me, you know I'm much more apt to spend the afternoon with the elderly than children, I like kids, but I don't melt at the sight of a classroom full of sticky youths. Whoops.
But this Christmas Eve Mass grabbed ahold of my heart and refused to let go. Children dressed up in their Holiday-gear: mini blazers, micro-sized sweaters, petite dresses. I about died. And of course, there was the moment when the priest had the kids sing Happy Birthday to Jesus, which was followed by asking who was born in a house? a hospital? (I got to raise my hand for this one), how about a barn? No one.
Then, suddenly, a squeak from the front yelled out, "JESUS!"
The congregation erupted in laughter, and I couldn't help but feel this is what Jesus would have wanted his birthday party to look like. Yes, I understand that culturally we decided to assign meaning to a day of the year that has nothing to do with a middle eastern man having a birthday cake. I GET IT. I took literary theory, trust me, I know.
But Jesus meets us where we are, and I am here in Texas, and we threw him a birthday party with everything I know He loves: His people, His church, His creation.
I am thankful to be here, I am thankful for this apartment I share with four people who love me no matter how ugly I get, and I think Jesus would have wanted that at his birthday party, too.
