Snow Day at the Pre-School

Friday was a Big Day at the pre-school associated with my church.  Even though the temperature was approaching 70 degrees and sunny, it was Winter.   A whole load of snow was delivered to the space between the sanctuary and the playground, where it was piled up in mounds for the children.  There were two bales of hay to serve as artificial hills, there were plenty of brightly-colored plastic sleds, and there there were children in jackets and snow shoes and boots.

It was Snow Day.

Did I mention that it was approaching 70 outside?

I come from a snowy land far north from where I am serving now.  I have to admit that, while watching the children I felt both misty-eyed and surreal.  I could have been wearing shorts.  But in front of me, children were playing in the snow, making snowballs and hitting each other, sliding down the hills millions of times, eating snow (is this universal?),  laughing and even (I thought I imagined) making snow angels.

I wasn't dressed appropriately, but I found myself wanting to get down in the snow and show them how you make a snow angel.

These children never see snow.  They don't get snow in this part of Texas.  At least, if they do, something is Seriously Wrong.   I have heard (but have not yet experienced it) that they get occasional ice storms.  But no snow.

I have been around snow my whole life, but it has been a few years since I experienced the fun of it.  I am not a winter sports aficionado.  I'm not great at ice skating, and I haven't gone sledding for a number of years.  The morning activities took me back to the big sledding hills of my youth, when winter was still fun:  snow forts and big hills and yes, even snow angels.  Now all I can think of is slipping on ice, shoveling out, the perils of driving, the nuisance and the danger.

I had forgotten the joy.

It was a teachable moment that morning:  for the children who do not have the opportunity see, touch, to taste snow.  But it was a teachable moment for me too, for me who so often forgets to wonder, to see, to taste joy which really is the elixir of life.  I am not talking about happiness, that elusive pursuit, but joy, as in "the joy of the Lord is our strength."

Joy does not deny the reality of storms, or shoveling out, of slipping on ice.  But still joy takes the moment to rip paper from Christmas packages, to dance in church, to taste snow,  to make a snow angel.

The joy of the Lord is our strength, which is why we need children, not relegated off to the side, but in the middle of our lives.

Epiphany: A Day and a Season

Epiphany went by this year, and I hardly even noticed it.  It came and went on Monday, January 6th, when the most notable news was the Polar Vortex, which has plunged our state (and most of the country) into a frozen wasteland.

I love the day of Epiphany, though I had barely a notion of it growing up.  I have grown to love it, I suppose, because there is a certain exotic taste to it.  It's not just the story of the three wise men from an indeterminate country "to the east"; it's not just the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.  It's also the things I have learned since then, about exotic places where Epiphany is a much bigger deal than it is here:  where they have community festivals with life-size puppets and processions of the three kings; where children leave their shoes out on the eve of Epiphany so they can be filled with gifts; where people gather by Mediterranean waters and bless the sea; where people mark the lintels of their houses for the new year with the initials "CBM" and pray God's blessings on friend and stranger for the coming year.

Epiphany seems exotic to me, and that is why I like it:  finding the revelation of Christ in places and faces strange to me.  It reminds me of that time long ago that I spent in Japan, finding myself constantly surprised and always learning new things.  There are times now that I wonder:  it was so long ago.  Was I ever even there?  Everything was so different.  The streets narrow and winding, with men delivering bowls of noodles (instead of pizza) on bicycles, the children shy or staring, the small churches where we took off our shoes at the entry and wore slippers instead.  So exotic, so far away.  At first I thought I was bringing Jesus to Japan.  But I discovered that instead Jesus was already there.

Epiphany seems exotic to me, but ordinary as well.  It is the surprise of finding Jesus in the strange and the familiar, in the old man making his bamboo baskets, and in the weary cashier at the supermarket.  It is the surprise of discovering Jesus in the words of an old hymn, and in the sounds and lyrics of a top forty tune.  It is the strange taste of bread and wine, so ordinary, transformed.

Lucky for me, Epiphany is not just a day.  It is a season, too:  a season where we hear the call of a strange and ordinary man, walking by the sea.  He says, "Follow me," and for some reason we can't even imagine, we follow him.  We follow him across the sea of Galilee, through storms and fasting, to Myanmar and Japan and Texas and the subzero Midwest.

And because we follow him, we see miracles, both exotic and ordinary.


20  C B M 14.

Snow at Christmas

Just a few minutes ago I looked out my window here at the office and got very excited.  "It's snowing!" I called out, to no one in particular.  It looks like it will just be a few snow flurries, but it did my heart good to see it. 

There is no snow here, to speak of.  It is December 21st, and this is Minnesota, and by all rights, there should be snow.  When people from my neck of the woods do a word association about Christmas, one of the top five words would be "snow."  Most of us are dreaming of a white Christmas here.  Though a few of us are happy that we don't have the slippery roads and shovelling associated with a white Christmas, there does seem as well to be a certain sense of disclocation.  Where are we?  What time is it? 

A Christmas tree salesman told us once that when the snow is late in coming the tree sales are slow, too.  We have labelled "snow" as one of the 'signs of the times' and there is some lack of urgency, perhaps.  Some people say they have a hard time getting into the 'Christmas spirit' without snow. 

But why is that?  In a real sense, Christmas doesn't have anything to do with snow.  It's not mentioned once in Luke, Chapter 2, nor in John, chapter 1.  There are lots of places where Christmas comes without snow. 

Maybe it's just a look I've gotten really used to, in my many years living up here.  On this darkest and longest of nights, I have gotten used to looking out into the darkness and seeing something white.  It's not the glow of a candle, but it sparkles and glistens.  The light shines in the darkness. 

Snow is one of the places I have come to look for light.  But there are plenty of other places to look for light, maybe truer places ( who can say?)  I just read the story of the local food drive that three Lutheran churches held.  Three truckloads of food were donated, but one of the truck drivers turned out to be a thief, driving off with 1,500 pounds of food which was meant to give away.  This happened on Monday.

Today I heard that these three churches have received more than enough food to make up for their loss.

The light shines in the darkness.

On Wednesdays in Advent, people from our congregation have been coming together for a short evening service.  At the close of each worship service, we sing a version of the table prayer to the tune of "Tallis Canon."  We have been singing it in canon, a capella.  Last Wednesday there were four parts.  It was beautiful, those bare voices singing.

The light shines in the darkness.

After the church service last Sunday, one man came up to me and pushed a few bills into my hand.  "I didn't get a bonus this year," he said, "but I still want to help someone in our congregation."  A little while later, I heard a woman telling a young African-American girl that she was beautiful.  A little while later, I looked into the sanctuary and saw several people working together decorating the church for Christmas eve.   One word, "Emmanuel" hangs above the pulpit in glittery letters.

The light shines in the darkness. 

Even when there is no snow.

Snow Day, or "Why Do I Live Here?"

They kept saying, this will be the biggest snowfall since the Halloween Blizzard in 1991.  People around here scoff sometimes at rumors of blizzards, because there are times that the promised snowfall turns out to be rather underwhelming.  Besides, we are hardy folks, and a few inches of snow does not bother us. In fact, we laugh (hah!) at a few inches of snow.

However, this time they were correct.  We had about two feet of snow here in one day yesterday.  It started at about 10:00 Friday evening, took a short break during the wee hours of the morning (but after five or six inches had already fallen).  It started again at about 7:30 a.m. (or so), and kept snowing until late afternoon.  It was that light, fluffy snow that is easier to shovel (although after the first foot or so, who cares?), but is also easier to drift.

I didn't have a real harrowing day yesterday, as I did not end up going out so much.  I went over to the breakfast Bible study early in the morning, but no one showed up, so I went back home.  I did a bunch of phone calling when I got home, because our Children's Christmas Program was cancelled for today.  No way they could hold the pageant without a dress rehearsal.  There were a few other details to be worked out with cancellations for the day and evening.  And there were regular forays out to the driveway to try to keep up with the snow accumulations.

Not such a dramatic day.

We did have an idea in the early afternoon that it might be good to get out for a little while.  We backed the car out of the driveway and down the block on the way to a local bookstore.  But when we approached the intersection, there were a couple of other cars at suspicious angles.   We slowed down, got stuck, discovered that we couldn't back out, and spent the next forty minutes trying to get one another dug out of the end of the block.

One thing about Minnesotans:  we do stick together in blizzard.

After this we pretty much had a quiet evening at home.

Some churches did cancel their services this morning; we operated services on a skeleton crew, and with fewer than normal attendees.  Some reported that the roads were fine; others thought this was not the case.  As I was very tired and sore from shoveling snow, I can't find it in my heart to judge too harshly those who might have been able to show up, but didn't. 

Tonight the temperatures are going waaaay down.  The 17-20 odd inches of snow we got is not going anywhere, for the rest of the winter.  That's life in Minnesota. 

So, why do I live here?

Good question.

My brother moved to San Diego when he was a young man.  At the time, he reported that "Minnesota is uninhabitable", and I'm sure that a few people agree.  But he moved back here a few years later, and I think he even bought mittens (possibly after his car stalled at work on a cold winter night).  I've never asked him why he moved back, but, I'm glad he's here.

Why do I live here?

There are a few down sides.  For example, it's going to get below zero tonight.  And tonight is not the only night that it will go below zero.   And while I do think the snow is beautiful (I really do), right now I am wondering where to put it.  I'm not sure if people who don't live around here even understand what I'm talking about, but I'm serious.  When I'm shoveling approximately two feet (but who's counting) of snow out of the driveway, I start wondering just how high I can pile it.   The wall of snow becomes a depressing metaphor for all obstacles to success, external or internal.   And, to make matters worse, I'm not a big fan of any winter sport, really.  I'm not a skiier or a ice skater or a hockey player. 

Why do I live here?

Well, for one thing, I like sweaters.  And thick wool socks.   I like scarves too.  I am not ashamed to say that wool does not bother me a bit.

I think that summer and fall are exquisite here, and I appreciate them when they arrive.

In the winter, I don't think anyone here labors under the delusion that we don't need our neighbors.  And I think, in the winter at least, that very few of us labor under the delusion that we don't need the big trucks that come by to plow and salt and sand the roads.  (You know, the trucks that our tax dollars support.)

Whether it's neighbors with their shovels digging each other out, or the big trucks coming to plow the streets, it's all about community. 

That's why I live here, I guess.  This is not just a collection of individuals.  It is a neighborhood, a community, and we know we need each other.  Especially in winter.

Don't we?

Bitter

This morning we woke up to temperatures well below zero, and windchills that made it seem even colder. We aren't breaking any records like they are in northern Minnesota, but it's cold enough for the middle of December, thank you.

Yesterday it was well above freezing, and the snow was melting and slushy. I didn't need to button my coat or wear my earmuffs (thank goodness, since I had mislaid them) or even put on my mittens.

Today it is bitter. Which is to say, it is not good to have any area of skin exposed for more than a moment. The cold stings, bites, slaps our faces. Nostrils burn. Fingers and toes are numb. It's like an attack of some kind.

Bitter. It's a funny word, pinched and small. The word bitter doesn't just describe cold and wind like we are having right now. The word bitter can describe a taste as well as a touch. A wind can be bitter, or a medicine. Or a person.

What does it mean to say a person is bitter? That they leave a bad taste in your mouth? Or that their presence stings, bites, slaps our faces? I suspect the latter.

It's funny though. Sitting in here in my warm house, I can look at the snowy streets and trees, the branches glistening, the white blanket covering everything, and believe, in my heart, it's beautiful.

So beautiful, but still dangerous. Bitter.

Scout and Snow

Just a few seconds of fun recording Scout out in the backyard. She didn't exactly cooperate with the camera, but I hope you enjoy, at least a little, watching her run.

I know I do.

That's her best friend on the other side of the fence.

One of my goals is to get a longer play session sometime this winter.

Scout does like winter better than I do. I have noticed that when we walk on the street, though, sometimes the pads of her feet start to hurt, and she limps a little. I think it might be the salt.

Anyway, wishing you seven seconds of glee sometime today, and the opportunity to visit with YOUR best friend across a fence.

Bad Weather Stories

...will get back to serious posting, really....

We had a lovely weekend here, with weather soaring up near 40 degrees on Monday and lots of melting. We drove up up to Duluth on Sunday to deliver a piece of furniture (and I do mean 'piece') to the brilliant younger stepson. And everything was warm and melting up there, too. Scout came along for the ride as she always does. Several shopkeepers know her by name, as does every night clerk at the hotel where we always stay.

But today the temperature has been plummeting all day. Those two warm days were just a foretaste of the spring to come (kind of like transfiguration is a foretaste of the resurrection, maybe?). We were supposed to get snow, but that all went south of us. However, the wind is howling and temperatures are well below zero as I type this. (14 below? and windchills are 37 or 38 below now). And I am remembering all kinds of Bad Weather Stories. Here are two:

It was the time of my first car, the Renault, which I bought because it was the only car I could afford. And it was the coldest December in years. I was living in an apartment in the kind of hip Uptown neighborhood, and parking on the street every night. And there was a solid week when the temperature did not get above 15 below. And the car would not start. If the temperature got one degree higher, to 14 below, I could start the car, with a lot of finessing. I was not supposed to pump the accelerator, but I did, and I could start the car if I pumped the accelerator. Until 15 below. Then nothing I did helped. So in desperation I called a service station one day. They told me it was flooded. I said it was not flooded, but oh well, what did I know? And they towed it in. When it got nice and warm inside the garage, it started up fine. So I brought the car home (it was a Friday night) and set my alarm for 2 in the morning, so that I could get up and drive the car around in the middle of the night. Then it was up again at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday to drive it again. All this so I could do Christmas shopping on Saturday.

During seminary sometime, the Renault breathed its last and I instead started driving a cute little red Mazda. During my last January in seminary, my senior year, we again had some incredibly cold weather. One morning I was set to give a presentation for a class. But I needed to get some materials printed at the local Kinkos. I hopped in my car, which started right up (although it of course complained about it.) In less than five minutes I was putting together my presentation, then headed back to my car, which WOULD NOT START. This time it was (see above) flooded. It was a long cold and shall I say humble walk to campus that morning. And later a long walk back to the car, which started right up this time.

Needless to say, I love my Toyota.

And, tonight at least, I am glad I do not live in the part of Canada where Crimson Rambler lives.

Redeeming the Mittens

This morning, it was 2 degrees outside (give or take a couple of degrees.) (Or, what's a couple of degrees among friends?) I have two full sets of wool mittens -- well, actually, now I have one set. I'm hoping that I left the other set at church yesterday.

Losing mittens or gloves is a very bad habit for me. I have lost full sets, but it is more common for me to lose one out of a set. Right now, I have one black and one white glove sitting on the mantle by the front door. I think there is one red glove somewhere also in the closet. I have still a small hope that I will find the other, but it's a very small hope.

Why even keep the singles? Sometimes I don't. I have sighed and tossed more single gloves than I care to count. But I haven't gotten there with any of these gloves yet. Give me time. Maybe it's laziness. Maybe a little wishful thinking. Maybe a little pity.

Single socks are sad, but there is something even sadder about a single mitten. We've all seen them, haven't we? On the sidewalk, in the street, in the parking lot of a discount store, single gloves destined never to find their mates. Somewhere, the partners of my lonely gloves are out there, never to be re-united with their mates.

They're so pretty, but they were never meant to be alone.

Like us.

Maybe that's another reason it's called "Faith in community."

by the way, the image is from here

Snow Day

It's snowing like Crazy outside, has been since mid-morning. They say sometime later it will turn into sleet, which I am not wild about.

In the meantime, I am making tortellini soup, and dreaming of a quiet evening at home.

Here is the recipe, which I received from a young woman at my internship congregation in Denver:

2 lbs ground italian sausage
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
6 cups beef broth (3 cans)
1 cup water
4 cups fresh tomatoes peeled and chopped
(if using canned tomatoes drain)
3 1/2 cups tomato sauce
2-3 large carrots
2 T. oregano
2 teaspons basil, dried
2 T. parsley, dried
a bay leaf
1 medium zucchini, chopped
2 10 ounce packages fresh or fresh frozen tortellini (cheese filled only; one spinach pasta can be used for color)

Brown sausage, keeping it in large chunks. Remove browned meat from pan, reserving 2 T of the oil Saute onion and garlic.

In a large soup pot, mix all ingredients, adding back sausage, except fo the chopped zuccini and tortellini. Bring to a boil and lower the heat.

Simmer the soup for 2-3 hours. About 45 minutes before serving, add the tortellini and the zucchini and summer until tortellini are done.

Soup can be made up to 3 days in advance and kept cool in fridge. Reheat to serving temperature.

Soup, corn bread, hot cocoa, maybe a little knitting and of course, the ubiquitous laundry before the first Sunday in Advent tomorrow.

I found the picture and an alternative soup recipe here