My dream home would have one room that would be a library–a large room. Maybe even with books floor to ceiling–and an attached ladder to be able to access them all. They would not be “show” books–they would be books I’ve read and enjoyed…and re-read.

I was thinking about this today as we were sorting through some boxes from our old house. We’ve sorted through books, but today I discovered a couple that I decided I want to keep.

At one point I did let go of probably half my books. I have access to them through a library that is close at hand, so I decided it was time to let them go. And I passed quite a few of them off to my son.

I remember reading when a rich person was someone who might have 20 books. Wow! What does that make me?

I have four bookshelves that are 2′ wide by 8′ tall–plus three additional bookshelves that are about 3′ wide by 3′ tall. And they’re all full of books…almost all of them read at least once. There are a few that I haven’t gotten around to yet, but not many.

Books are so important!

I read a study once that said that a top predictor of success for kids is the number of books that is in their home. If that’s so, our kids should be in good shape–and so should our grandson. His parents have lots of books themselves…and so does he!

Too many books? Never!!

That’s a statement I remember hearing quite a bit growing up. “Your actions speak so loudly I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

It took me a while to really understand what was being said. But once I got it, I began to see just how much it applied to every day.

It seems particularly apt in this political season.

As I watch the various debates, speeches, questions-and-answers, I’m discovering that I have difficulty hearing some of the words coming out of the GOP because actions have spoken so loudly.

They’re a party of family values…right. One of the front-runners has been married 3 times, with at least one of his wives having been a mistress during his previous marriage. Uh-huh…that’s the kind of family value I want promoted–not!

They’re a party that is pro-life. Sure, until an infant takes its first breath. Then woe betide it if there are any major medical  issues that the family could use help with.

They’re a party that believes in Christian values. Whatever happened to the idea of reaching out to those in need…in prison…the hungry…the sick? Seems to me that Matthew 25 has something to say that relates to those values:

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what’s coming to you in this kingdom. It’s been ready for you since the world’s foundation. And here’s why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.’

“Then those ‘sheep’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?’ Then the King will say, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’

“Then he will turn to the ‘goats,’ the ones on his left, and say, ‘Get out, worthless goats! You’re good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—

I was hungry and you gave me no meal,
I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.’

“Then those ‘goats’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn’t help?’

“He will answer them, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.’

As a woman, I deeply resent reading an email from a staffer of another major candidate that says that having a woman president would put our children in danger because God doesn’t want a woman to rule public institutions.

And apparently–according to this candidate–God doesn’t want women to have any choice over whether they get pregnant or not…not should we have sex unless it’s for the purpose of having babies. Hello…what about those of us who are past that age but still like sex?!?

Don’t even get me started on the support I’m hearing from GOP supporters about the abominable actions taken by the Marines who were videotaped urinating on the bodies of dead Taliban soldiers! What kind of message does that send? It certainly doesn’t enhance our ability to engage in respectful discussions around the world…

I’d really like to believe at least some of the words that I hear coming from the political parties–but right now, actions are drowning them out.

David was a distant cousin. We had known each other for years and claimed each other as family, even though the relationship was about 3rd or 4th generation. But he was family.

In recent years, David was a support in a different way. He was serving as president of GALA (Gay and Lesbian Acceptance), and when my husband finally admitted to himself and to me that he is bisexual, we began to develop a different relationship with David as we began getting involved with this organization that supports LGBT folks who desire to stay connected with our faith tradition…and which is trying to bridge the gap between church and community.

David was a couple of years younger than me, and that may be part of the reason why his death has shaken me. You’re not supposed to be this young when you die! I know, I’ve seen other obituaries for people in their 60s, including some individuals I graduated from high school with…but they weren’t people who were family. This death is too close to home.

You’re gone too soon, David. We need your passion, your humor, your caring… But now you’ve left it to us.

Rest in peace, my friend.

My mom lives in a nursing home, in the assisted living section. It’s been a good move for her–her friends were all there, and it was a place where she could be safe.

She still plays the game reasonably well. There’s some mistakes periodically–but at almost 91 years of age, those are allowed.

The bigger problem is the dementia we’re seeing develop. I don’t know how much longer she’ll be able to stay in her assisted living apartment. Right now she’s okay as long as nothing throws her routine, but down the road I can see a move to skilled nursing.

Yesterday afternoon when I called her to remind her that we were coming over (something we need to do regularly–and then she doesn’t always remember), I felt like I was in the Abbot and Costello conversation “Who’s on First?”

Our conversation went like this:

Me: Mom, Aunt D’s back in town so I just wanted to remind you that we’ll be over for games tonight.

Mom: Oh, that’s lovely! But I don’t know if Dorothy’s back in town…

Me: Yes, we just talked to her yesterday, and she’s back in town.

Mom: So will Dorothy be here?

Me: Yes, we’ll all be there.

Mom: Have you talked to Dorothy?

Me: Yes, that’s how I know she’s back in town.

Mom: Oh…Dorothy’s back in town?

Me: Yes, she got back yesterday.

Mom: I’ll be glad to see you. Will Dorothy be coming?

Me: Yes, Mom. Aunt D will be there.

Mom: Oh, she’s back in town?

You get the idea!

I think watching her slip away bit by bit is the hardest part of watching her age. Sometimes I rage at God–I don’t want to lose her mentally before we completely lose her. But I can’t control that.

I want her back…want the mother who was always on top of things…the woman who was a stronger woman than she gave herself credit for. I want back the mother who engaged in intelligent conversations about what she had read…the people she had visited with.

But that’s not what I have now. I have a mother who is sometimes fearful because she can’t always make sense of what is going on…who at times knows that she’s losing her mental sharpness…who will read the same couple of pages in the same book for a month and still not know that she’s read any of it…who is really cocooning herself in her room and not attending activities she always used to enjoy.

I try to enter into her reality–good advice my cousin gave me. But it is so hard–especially when at times I’m not sure where the entrance is into that reality.

I want her back…but I know that’s not possible.

So I guess what I really want is to have the patience to love her and mother her as she loved and mothered me when I know I drove her nuts.

The idea intrigued me, so I decided that 2011 would be my year for doing that. I thought briefly about using email, but that didn’t feel right. If I was really going to focus on this project, I needed the discipline of actually sitting down and writing with pen in hand.

But 365 notes?!?! How on earth was I going to come up with that many names?

I made a list of people I knew I wanted to say thank you to–about 30 names. I figured I’d just have to really work hard on coming up with the other 330…or trust!

I’ve now finished this year’s project…and have been truly blessed.

Yes, I went through my initial list–but not in the first 30 days. Other names found themselves interspersed with that initial list. When I started really paying attention, it was surprising how names came to my mind–and why.

Some were people I’ve known for years–who’ve impacted my life in significant ways, but I’d never told them that. Some were coworkers–paid and volunteer. Some were simply friends. A couple were the children of someone who had died before my project started. But a number were individuals I met in the course of daily activities who did something that I felt needed to be acknowledged…some waitresses or other service people.

As I look back over my list, I’ve been surprised at another fact. I had assumed that probably there would be a number of repeats, and I was okay with that. But out of the 365, I think there are probably only between 5-10 notes that have gone to the same person a couple of different times.

I wasn’t looking for any response. That’s not why I started the project.

Some did respond, though–and let me know that the note touched them in significant ways, sometimes bringing healing…other times reminding them that they are people of worth.

Am I going to do the same thing for 2012? No, I don’t think so–at least not as intensely and intentionally. But I am going to continue to try to be sensitive to people who touch my life–and let them know, even if it doesn’t end up being every day.

For each of us “it” may be something different–to lose a specific number of pounds…to finish that project started years ago…to reconnect with family…to finish school…. Yet for each of us, the new year is a chance to both look back and look forward–appropriate for the month named for Janus, the god who looked both directions.

Looking back gives an opportunity to see missed opportunities…to really evaluate where we’ve been and how we’ve been doing.

And looking forward lets us see the new path before–the clean slate.

How will we connect and interact with each other? Willing to listen? to be vulnerable? to share those experiences that have made us who we are?

Or will we insist that our own understandings are the only right ones? that no one else can possibly have “the truth” if they don’t agree with us?

True, that often happens when we begin to talk religious “stuff”…but that’s not the only place. Just think of what we’ve been hearing recently in political ads? and in political action…and relationships with other countries.

We have another chance to see the world in a whole new way…can we take advantage of it?

May you and those you love be blessed this day and this year with love, hope, joy, and peace.

For as long as I can remember, our family (or whoever is available) has gathered for Christmas Eve dinner. Nothing unusual about that–but the menu is rather surprising…….oyster stew and waffles!

Why that combination?

It actually goes back a couple of generations. My paternal grandfather wanted oyster stew for Christmas Eve, although I’m not sure why. That was fine with my father, who also liked oyster stew. However, my grandmother and my aunt did not, and so Gram fixed waffles for them. That’s it…that’s how the tradition started. But all my life, that’s been our traditional Christmas Eve dinner.

Some in the family eat both with great gusto. Some take a small (as small as possible!) bowl of the stew with only one oyster–the smallest one that can be found. (Another part of our family’s tradition has been that you have to at least try the stew–you might eventually find that you actually like it!)

Traditions are important. They can help us connect with our past and build bridges to the future–even traditions that might make others go “huh???”

Although in many ways it was the same, this year was also different from last. There were many more babies, both in the regular nursery and in the NICU. But there was still the delight of the parents (and grandparents and siblings and…)

Santa didn’t think he would beat holding last year’s youngest child (who was three hours old). As the evening wore on, he held one who was about four hours old…one who was six hours old…but then came one who was just two and a half hours old! Wide awake and alert…looking around at this brand new world.

Everyone who gathered around was delighting in watching this new life discover sights and sounds not seen before.

And I got to thinking about the child whose birth we are celebrating this season.

Did Mary and Joseph have as much delight in watching Jesus look around? What did Jesus see–and hear–when the shepherds came to visit? What did Mary and Joseph think about these strange visitors?

We sing the Polish carol about the “infant holy”…but I was reminded last night, that in many ways, every birth is a holy one. Every child is a symbol of hope for a new and changed world. Every child is a new opportunity…

And so, while we celebrate the birth of one specific child this season, I hope and pray that as we look into the faces of children everywhere–whether our own or someone else’s…whether of our own race, nationality, or religion or of another–that we are reminded of the opportunity (and responsibility) that is ours to help create a world where there is truly peace on earth.

What brought this up today?

Yesterday I heard on the news (and was given a link to a site) about a “Christian” organization that apparently doesn’t like to see members of any other religion–and in this case especially, Islam–presented in any light other than as dangers to their understanding of the American/Christian way of life. They have put pressure on the companies that have advertised on that show, and a number of those companies have pulled their ads in response.

I am deeply disappointed.

The Christ I worship is one who came to unite people, not drive us apart–even if we have different understandings of and names for the One who created all of us. When he was living here, he reached out to any who were willing to listen–those who were religious, the outcasts, the enemies of the state. Even as he was dying, he reached out in love.

As his follower, can I do any less?

That doesn’t mean that I’m going to necessarily agree with how others worship. But it does mean that I need to see to understand–not push away. It means that I need to listen–and in listening, face the possibility that my perceptions may be stretched. It means I need to give others the grace I want for myself.

Those who came to worship the babe whose birth we celebrate weren’t ones who were typically included in worship. They were shepherds–considered outlaws and thieves…individuals whose testimony was automatically discounted in a court of law. They were magi–members of another culture whose worship style we don’t know a lot about…but it was definitely different from that of the Jews!

And those who followed the grown Jesus were not those typically accepted. They were fishermen–who were considered continually unclean. There was a Zealot–a terrorist. There was a tax collector–a traitor to his people and a thief. And this Jesus reached out–to Samaritans, bitter religious enemies…to Romans, occupiers of his country…to lepers and others who were ill, often forced to leave their families and their homes to live wherever they could find shelter.

How the Peace Bringer must weep when we use the occasion of his birth to exclude and create distrust!

May the words of an ancient carol live in our hearts and be our vision for this Christmas and the years to come:

Jesus, good above all other,
gentle child of gentle mother,
in a stable born our brother,
give us grace to persevere.

Jesus, cradled in a manger,
for us facing every danger,
living as a homeless stranger,
make we thee our King most dear.

Jesus, for thy people dying,
Risen Master, death defying,
Lord, in heaven thy grace supplying,
keep us to thy presence near.

Lord, in all our doings guide us;
pride and hate shall ne’er divide us;
we’ll go on with thee beside us,
and with joy we’ll persevere!