They always say not to
be afraid when they arrive
burning hot like the
sun. Above and around,
knowing what God looks
like they generally have
less to say than I’d think –
not like stars though, not
far away, but slipping
between realities as
though they were sheets
of paper. I’ve heard
they sometimes fight
their way through when
darkness guards the
page. Do not be afraid,
as though we could
manage it, however
good the news. But
I’m glad they try
anyway. Like comforting
a baby when there’s
a loud noise or a
change in cabin
pressure. Elevated,
unreasonably loved,
ransomed, so to speak.
Do not be afraid. Okay.
I’ll try to believe
they mean it.
Tag / christmas
Expectancy
I’ve never been pregnant, and I’ve never even wanted to be. I’m not saying that’s good. It’s just true. I have a dear friend who’s having a baby in February though, and for some reason, after all the friends and family members who’ve had babies, this one has gotten me thinking. It’s too late for me and I haven’t changed my mind, but I’ve started thinking about expectancy.
I’ve thought a lot already about expectations. These are almost always uniquely negative things. They tend to be false, unfair, disappointing, and relationship-killing. They place strict boundaries around what we want or think we need from others. They limit another person to being a particular way or doing a certain thing. They don’t leave room for anything other than what is expected.
I actually ran into this as a major personal issue when I was younger, and I was expected to have a child or two or three within a few years of marriage. Doing that is a great thing for a whole lot of people, but it wasn’t for me. When I failed to meet this expectation, assumptions were made about the reasons for it. Emotional barriers were thrown up by people who did and didn’t know me, because I was unusual in this regard and that made me unpredictable and mysterious. People didn’t know what to think of me. They didn’t know what to expect, and that was an impediment to our relationship. I think it may have made people feel insecure. Sometimes they’d even assume that I must not approve of people who did have children, and that I’d placed judgments on them. I hadn’t at all. For a whole bunch of reasons I just didn’t have the emotional or physical resources to engage in being a mother, myself.
Expectancy is different in that it leaves room for the unexpected. We can be expectant of something good without defining exactly what we think that must be. It’s about waiting for something, and not being quite sure exactly what it is that we’re going to get.
My friends who are expecting a baby boy are absolutely thrilled to meet their son. They get adorably giddy at the thought of getting to know who he is. Therein lies the difference. They haven’t decided who he’s going to be or what he’s going to do. I’m sure they probably have some expectations about parenting that will turn out to be false because they’ve never done it before and they’ve imagined it to be a particular way. Knowing these dear people, they’ll work through that and get back into reality. But right now, in the third trimester of the pregnancy, they’re expecting a son and leaving all the doors and windows of possibility open to him. He’s going to be a remarkable little human and that’s about all anyone knows about him right now. But expectancy is in the air. They’re longing with all their hearts to find out who this little person is going to be, and that leaves room for him to be himself.
Expectations aren’t helpful. They disappoint, distract, and disconnect. Expectancy is different because it is hope that doesn’t try to control outcomes. It may dream a little, but in the end it makes room for whatever is coming to be whatever it is.
As Christmas approaches, I think about the traditional story. I think about the person of Jesus as described in the Bible. He was executed because he did not meet expectations. He didn’t overthrow the Romans. He hung out with crooks and prostitutes and liars. The only people he ever really reamed out were the religious leaders of the day, because they made God inaccessible and placed unbearable burdens on everyday people. He was not who people expected him to be. That didn’t mean he wasn’t good. That didn’t mean that people weren’t onto something when they were hopefully anticipating the coming of the Messiah. He ended up being all about loving God and loving each other. He represented God here on earth, which means God is all about love, too, and that’s something worth getting excited about.
Expectancy waits for revelation and lets go of pre-definition. It releases control and embraces acceptance. It puts us in the role of recipients instead of demigods, insistent on our own ways. At Christmas we’re waiting for a baby to be revealed. If we are wise we’re not waiting for a predefined man to show up and meet our every desire like a Chippendale-Warrior-Santa-Claus, slave to our whims and fantasies. It might be fun at first but we’d tire of him eventually, as we do of anything plastic that runs on batteries. We’d almost certainly muck up what’s good by trampling over others’ needs while trying to meet our own. None of those stories about genies in lamps turn out well in the long run.
I think I’d rather anticipate a baby, and gradually discover everything that is delightful and unexpected about him. I’d rather have a God I can’t control, especially if he’s willing to show up helpless and humble. As he and I take time to get to know each other, he might just turn out to be someone I’d like to know.
The Perfect Hat
I love buying and giving gifts. My psychiatrist heard this and told me I must be mental, which made me laugh quite hard. And yet it’s true. My husband gave me a budget this year for getting people presents as part of my own Christmas present. It makes me happy to pop into shops, see things that remind me of friends, and buy them. My plan is that I’ll be able to do this all year round once we get finances all settled after medical expenses die down (crossing my fingers, saying a prayer and finding some rosary beads).
There are only two things that aren’t fun about buying gifts. One regards money. Sometimes I find the perfect gift and discover it’s out of my budget. Other times, because I believe in quality, small shops and paying full price as my own meager way of resisting a market built on slave labor in third world countries, I run out of money before I’ve bought something for everyone on my list.
The other joy-sapping scenario is one in which I feel pressured to buy something for someone whose tastes remain elusive to me. I’m a designer and strongly empathetic, so I can get a pretty good sense for most friends. But every once in a while there’s someone who remains mysterious. This year, my mysterious Christmas gift recipient was a 16 year old boy.
This particular boy is a person whose mother I know very well, and because of this I’ve heard numerous stories and seen a multitude of pictures. I can tell he’s a confident, somewhat nerdy person with great wit and a lot of expressive energy, and he’s a country boy. He’s a good kid. From all of the above I can tell quite a bit, but still, I’ve got to do more than give him chocolate every year, ice cream doesn’t ship well, he’s not into sports, and he hasn’t seen enough Dr. Who episodes to understand those kinds of references on t-shirts or memorabilia. When I found out my Dr. Who idea wouldn’t work, I got a little worried.
Today was the day. His mom told me he wanted a warm hat that had some personality. Seattle has plenty of hats with personality, but then I realized, he lives in the country and shops at Walmart. His idea of personality might be quite a bit more restrained than what I can find on the West Coast.
I started shopping in Fremont, the self-proclaimed center of the universe. I went to the small stores I thought viable, finding presents for Melissa, Kristen, Chris, Sharon and Nicki. I laughed myself silly reading a little book entitled “All my Friends are Dead” right in the middle of a shop. I found a fair trade nonprofit group that sells incredible Peruvian pillow covers and bags, but no hat. And right before I realized I’d left my purse at the hippie vegan restaurant where we’d had lunch, I did discover and purchase (with Keith’s help) a solid chocolate dinosaur.
45 minutes and a heart attack later, we were on our way to Ballard, having found my purse hiding behind a chair. It took me over an hour to find my way down from the anxiety stratosphere, but then I was ready to try some more.
Just for the record, Ballard is sick. I mean, the shopping is truly epic for someone with my particular tastes. There were twinkle lights everywhere, judging by the clamor in the sports bars the Seahawks were obviously winning their game, and I only had to visit a handful of delightful little shops before finding It – the perfect hat. Yes, it was on a mannequin’s head but in the wrong color. I was directed to the “hat room” in the back, where the shop cat was sleeping on a blanket on a shelf over a heat lamp. There was one hat left in the appropriate color. It was an epic moment in which I stood triumphant, knowing I had found the hat that had Josiah’s name invisibly written on it in magic ink. Victory was mine. Hopefully I will retain said victory by getting all the presents wrapped and mailed in time for the actual holiday.
I’m trying to find a deeper meaning in this. I want my blog to be characterized by depth, sensitivity and charm, as well as a certain air of mysterious abstraction that embodies my weird little spirit. I don’t mind digging a little. Let’s go for depth.
Why do I love buying gifts? Am I indeed mental? It’s not always easy. Am I looking for approval? I’m sure that may leak into it occasionally. Mostly I think that giving gifts is a way I can express my affection. Real friends won’t care if my selection is a bit off sometimes. They’ll receive in the same way I would from them, grateful that they thought of me. There are so many painful things about life that I can sometimes become overwhelmed with the burden of all the brokenness that I see in the ways we humans treat each other. It’s a comfort to me to take a small moment to express my affection for people I love. There’s a softness about it that knocks out a few edges and makes life easier to bear. I want so badly to make the world a better place and I am so profoundly limited in what I can actually do to create change. Giving some little something away just to make someone smile makes me feel a bit better about walking around on planet earth. It reminds me what my feet are for and that I can do other small things. I can buy a blanket for a homeless person, donate socks, hug a friend who looks sad, listen when someone is hurting. I can call my parents for five minutes from my therapist’s office. I can walk a student to the counseling center and attend a prayer vigil for peace.
If I can find the perfect hat for a 16 year old boy, I can do almost anything, damn it. It’s not about the hat. It’s about listening for the heart of the potential receiver and responding as accurately and sensitively as possible. We need a lot more listening in our country right now. I think we always will, so I think it’s okay to celebrate the opportunity to give the gift of an open ear, or heart, or pocketbook. In being generous we can forget about ourselves, even if some call us mental for enjoying it. If we’re really lucky, we may even get to guffaw over a silly book in the middle of a crowded room, while searching for the perfect hat.
Not Quiet Any More 