#truelove #allowing #dating
About all we’ve done wrong
We already know
I think it’s time for us
To find the freedom in the trust
Of letting go . . .
You and I were made for more
Can’t imagine what’s in store
We were meant to soar
Like an eagle
Leave religion at the door
Raise the roof and shake the floor
Let’s get loud and let’s explore
Joy unspeakable…
(From “Joy Unspeakable” by Mandisa)
Where is the Joy? Was it just an odd coincidence or not, that Nelson Mandela’s funeral was held this Sunday? Mandela, buried on Joy Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent traditionally celebrated in the lighting of the third Advent candle – the candle of Joy.
Joy is not what we feel when a great man is taken from us, even at the end of his years. Of course there is joyful remembrance in the life and legacy of a man who had such a positive impact in the world; but there is no joy at the graveside of anyone we love and admire. Gravesides are places of deep sorrow, where we are confronted with the grim finality that death does not give back our love or loss.
Joy is not what people in prison or any other kind of trouble experience. This Sunday, was it just by odd coincidence or not, that the Advent gospel reading was the account of John the Baptizer – imprisoned for daring to tell the truth to power. Amid the Advent Joy of Christmas we are confronted by John’s anguished question from prison to Jesus – “are you the One, or is there another?”
We can only begin to imagine the darkness going on in John’s head and heart. After devoting his life to “preparing the way for the Lord,” after baptizing Jesus in the Jordan, and after hearing of Jesus’ magnificent proclamation – the Lord has anointed me…sent me to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to liberate the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Luke 4 CEB) – John finds himself summarily imprisoned by King Herod, with little hope of clemency. How could this possibly happen to the number one advance man of God’s kingdom, the coming of Jesus Christ? I’d certainly want to know if Jesus was really the One I was waiting and working for – or if I was badly mistaken? And if he was the One, I’d surely demand to know what he was going to do to get me out of prison, and when!
John’s painful situation and his hauntingly painful question confront us during Advent. There is no joy in John’s world, no hint of celebration in his question – just the deep aching in the heart of a man who needs to know the truth about his life and the God on whom he had staked his life. Jesus – are you the One, or is there someone else?
Some years ago, during a meeting with the governor of Upper Prison in Uganda, I was invited to visit the “condemned section” – death row. For me there is nothing quite as depressing and tragically oppressive as being ushered into the anteroom of a prison’s killing chamber where condemned people live and wait to be executed. For some reason the governor noticed the expression that must have crossed my face during his invitation – “Oh, there is no need to be at all concerned,” he stated, “you will actually find more joy among our condemned that you will find anywhere else in Uganda!” As preposterous as it sounded to me that is exactly what I found after we made our way into the innermost part of the prison where ninety condemned men were confined.
Like John the Baptizer, many of them had also struggled through the anguish of their situation, angry at God the government and the world. But on death row, with nothing to lose and nothing to gain the answer that they found filled their lives with joy, a quality of which I can only describe as being “an unspeakable joy and full of glory.” As I met with those prisoners I experienced the presence of Jesus like I have seldom experienced in any church service or religious celebration. Their joy was infectious, because they absolutely knew that Jesus was the One, their Saviour – their only hope and advocate, the only anchor for their soul on this side of the hangman’s noose and the other.
John’s question echoes through the prisons of the world and through our own periods of trouble and distress. During this Advent the Lord answers that question as he answered John, gently pointing to the evidence of God’s grace and love – the blind who are seeing, the deaf who are hearing, the lame who are walking, the sick who are healed, and the poor who are receiving good news. He does not promise that it will be the same for us, nor does he rebuke us for the question. He simply invites us to open our eyes to see the evidence of his coming into the world and into our lives. The presence of Jesus brings us an unspeakable liberating Joy beyond our personal prisons; the macabre anterooms of death we face; and even at the graveside of our dreams and jobs and the friends we’ve loved.
Joy to the world! The Lord is come
Let earth receive her King!
Let every heart prepare Him room. . .
Joy to the world! the Savior reigns
Let men their songs employ
While fields and floods
Rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy. . .
No more let sin and sorrow grow
Nor thorns infest the ground
He comes to make
His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found. . .
He rules the world with truth and grace
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness
And wonders of his love. . .
(From “Joy to the World” by Isaac Watts)
It’s easy to become persuaded by the glossy ads and slick commercials that tell us we should buy this brand of jeans or this jacket or that diamond ring or that handbag to show our love to someone.
If you really want to show your love to someone, be your authentic self and show up in the relationship. It’s as simple as that.
Showing up means we are present and when we are present, we are able to validate that the other person matters. And that’s really all we want in this world. To matter to someone. To be important to another person. To be seen and heard. To love and be loved. To be validated.
Validation simply means recognizing your partner’s feelings as a part of their individual life experience. It is not the same as agreeing with your partner.
We run into problems in our relationships when we invalidate our partner’s emotions with responses like:
“How can you say we don’t spend enough time together when we’ve already gone out twice this week?”
“That shouldn’t make you mad. It could be worse.”
“Why do you always cry over small stuff?”
“Quit telling me what to do.”
“Why can’t you just be happy?”
Something that is hurtful to your boyfriend or husband may not be hurtful to you and vice versa. Look behind the complaint for the feeling. Being in the moment allows us to see our partner’s world from their eyes. Mindful listening, accepting and asking questions show that we care.
And this pertains to more than just the times when we are upset, angry or sad. It’s for times of excitement and joy as well.
Has your man ever come home from watching the game with the boys and he is all pumped up because his team won and you simply dismiss it with “I wish you got that excited last Friday when we went out to dinner.”
What you are saying to him is “I don’t really care that you care that much about football.” So he will be less and less inclined to share things with you that he cares about because you are basically telling him “I don’t care what you care about.” Instead share in his celebration and watch how he reacts differently.
Or have you ever shared with your guy that you were over the moon excited because the shoes you have been wanting went on sale? What if instead of forcing a smile or uttering a “that’s nice,” he responded with “I know how you love a good deal, did you get them already?” Now he’s relaying that he understands these shoes going on sale is exciting to you.
All relationships are platforms for us to heal issues we hold on to. Unconsciously we draw different people into our lives to show us what parts of ourselves we need to heal. By understanding this, we can reprogram ourselves to be present, allow and accept, and really show up in the relationship instead of being defensive or invalidating the other.
I’m not saying don’t buy a gift for your loved one this holiday season, I’m saying the most important present you can ever give someone is to simply be present. Listen when she needs to vent. Support him when he needs it most. Celebrate life’s joyous moments together. I think Mariah says it best when she sings, “All I want for Christmas is you!”
Many people prefer to be around other people who think, act and look exactly like themselves, even though they may be tolerant of those outside their comfort zone. Others take it a step further and condemn those that are not like themselves. That’s called prejudice, which often leads to unjustified emotional or physical injury to another human being. On a larger scale, it leads to war.
The spirit of the holidays has always been symbolized by peace, however, peace doesn’t begin with a nation. It begins within the heart of each and every person. Your heart holds the keys to celebrating diversity instead of criticizing it and to practicing tolerance instead of hate. But, you must be willing. And why wouldn’t you be? Think of how you would feel if you were discriminated against or attacked because of the color of your skin; the God you worshiped (or not); the politician you voted for (or not); the food you ate; the holidays you celebrate; the person or you loved (same sex or not). How would you feel if the right to practice any of these openly, freely and lawfully (without any negative repercussions) was taken away?
The holiday season is a good time to search deep within your heart and start a lifelong practice of compassion and acceptance for all human beings.
Five ways to celebrate diversity and practice tolerance:
• Take the time to learn about different cultures through books, documentaries, magazines, travel, foreign language classes or cooking classes.
• When you encounter people with different beliefs than yours, honor their right to believe in what they want just as you would want them to honor yours.
• Teach your children as early as possible to accept all people as being equal — period.
• Don’t base your opinion of an entire nation of people by one bad act or person reported about from the media.
• Resist forcing your opinions and beliefs upon others who have rightfully chosen their own.
White-haired and handsome, my father was a bookie with organized crime connections. Though several grand juries had indicted him, and the FBI had raided our home a number of times, according to us kids, federal agents were the real evil. It’s true, Daddy had a door whose top had been hollowed out and lined with tin — the same size needed to hold the folded papers on which he recorded in carefully drawn columns the bets his clients called in, who had placed how much on which games. But this didn’t concern us much. Our lives revolved more around Lego and Lincoln Logs than search warrants and wiretaps.
Still, come December, Dad made up for these legal liabilities, for what my siblings and I imagined were minor infractions.
Sure, he gave gifts throughout the year — World Series tickets to my sister when she turned ten, for example.
But Christmas morning was Daddy’s center stage. There, with one wardrobe adjustment, he morphed, red-suited, into wise guy among wise men. A Savior who Jesus-ed us with gifts and trips, he would have outfitted himself in elf couture, if that’s what the occasion called for. I’m convinced of it. He was Superman in a Santa suit — at least in our minds.
You see, my father didn’t stuff our stockings with apples and oranges, underwear and socks, but with destination gifts, the most amazing vacations — one year Mexico — another, a Caribbean cruise. He made sure our stockings bulged bigger and sagged deeper than any others in the neighborhood, in all of Pittsburgh, for that matter.
One Christmas morning, he’d already showered us with Barbie dolls and Tonka trucks, GI Joes and Easy Bake Ovens. But pj-ed and pony-tailed in a roomful of presents, we knew the best was yet to come. It was time for Daddy’s annual encore, his curtain call, if you will. He’d lined the four of us up, oldest to youngest, on an orange couch in the living room, our stocking feet twisting, little fingers twitching — so hard to sit still — so much anticipation.
“Are you ready? Dad rubbed his hands together, drawing out the moment, making us wait longer. We held our breath as he approached the stereo, positioning the needle on a song he’d preselected. The record played clue number one.
NYC
I go years without you
Then I
Can’t get
Enough
Enough of the cab drivers answering back
In the language far from pure
Enough of frankfurters answering back
Brother, you know you’re in NYC.
“New York,” we squealed. “We’re going to New York City!”
“Are you sure?” he tried to throw us off, get us to second-guess ourselves.
“Yes, yes,” we insisted.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Listen.” And again he set the needle down — this time on clue number two.
It’s the hard-knock life for us!
It’s the hard-knock life for us!
‘Steada treated,
We get tricked!
‘Steada kisses,
We get kicked!
It’s the hard-knock life!
This was the ironic twist we never understood as kids. It was a hard life we led in legal terms, but not always, and not forever. My father’s joke to himself and Mommy, I imagine.
But then he finally confessed the destination.
“Okay. You’re too smart for me,” he said. “You guessed! We’re going to New York City.”
With that he turned and picked up tickets from the mantle, fanning them in his hand like playing cards, the theater’s royal flush.
“We’re going to the Big Apple, so we can see ‘Annie’ on Broadway.”
We hooted. We hollered, high-fiving one another as only happy kids can, my 3-year-old brother still wondering what apples had to do with anything.
“But when?” Lynn squealed what we all wanted to know.
Our father silenced us — holding his index finger in the air — “One moment, please.”
Again, Daddy approached the stereo. Again, the music played. This time, clue number three.
The sun’ll come out
Tomorrow.
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
They’ll be sun.
“Tomorrow!” We screamed — up off the couch. “We’re going tomorrow?” This was too good to be true.
Then as the music continued, he turned to Mommy — gesturing simultaneously toward the pj-ed peanut gallery.
“The tickets, please.” And she placed the confirmation in each of our hands–airline tickets. And the date — December 26.
“You better get packing!”
So, we packed every year. That is, until my dad died in 1981, too young, too soon.
After that — no Christmas passports, no ports of call.
It’s been more than 30 years now since Daddy passed — no curtain call.
And I wonder sometimes what he does these days on December 25. I don’t know if Broadway musicals play a place like heaven in the end — if that’s their final run. But if they do, I bet my father has orchestra seats. I bet he’s hanging out in bookie paradise, a promised land of legalized gambling, perpetual ESPN, and the best Broadway has to offer.
What’s your best Christmas memory?
Kathryn blogs at “reinventing the event horizon,” where an earlier version of this post appears. She’s, also, writing a memoir, whose working title is “Kids Make the Best Bookies,” about growing up in an organized crime family. She is currently seeking representation.
Allowing true love. Books and Subliminal Audios 