Martha Martha!

The first day of school after Christmas break, my eight year old informed me of the news—

“Hey Mom. We had a new girl in our class today.  Her name is Martha. Martha, from Nebraska.”

“Really?  Well, were you nice to Martha from Nebraska?”

“Yeah, I made her feel happy in school today.”

“Well that’s nice.  It’s good to make new people feel welcomed.”(Jack is Mr. Hospitality.)

Day two:

“Hey mom! Martha from Nebraska has a new best friend.”

“Really, she has a best friend already? Who is it?”

“It’s me!”

“Wow! Did Martha from Nebraska tell you that?”

“Well, (sigh) she hugged me in the lunch line and then she held my hand all the way back to class...and then I tied her shoe.”

-silence-

“Um, well that’s nice Jack, do you like Martha from Nebraska?”

“Yeah she’s ok. I guess she’s cute.  I’m just glad to make her happy.”

Every now and then I hear about various incidents at lunch.  Martha drops something, Jack picks it up for her.  She holds his hand whenever they walk in a line together.  She hugs him when he helps her in Math workshop; she hates his new haircut because she likes his hair longer.

For Valentine’s Day, Jack drew a special pink heart on Martha’s NASCAR valentine because “Martha would like that.”   

I haven’t met Martha from Nebraska, but from what I can tell, she definitely has Jack’s number.  Which makes me glad we didn't get Jack what he really wanted for his birthday-- a cell phone. What eight year old wants a cell phone?  Maybe I should ask Martha.

Let the games begin…

On New Year’s Day I waltzed into the Y.  Seeing as I had recently become addicted to Reddi-whip (another story) I figured I would lose no time getting back into the swing of my “sporty-fit-and-forty” campaign.  When I logged into the Fitlynxx system to setup my workout, the computer screen exploded with firework graphics.

“Congratulations! You have earned 15,000 points!”

4 months and 70 workouts later, I had reached some sort of mile marker. What was my reward?  A red plastic bracelet inscribed with the slogan “Make It Happen.”  If I keep up with the program I might hit 30,000 points before Easter—which will earn me a key chain neck lanyard.  I can only dream.  A day later the Y trainer tracked me down.

“Ms. J, it’s time.”

“No, no really. I don’t think so.”

“Yes it is. You better come see me this week!”

I guess it’s time to ratchet up the regimens again.  I’m not so sure I really want to “Make It Happen.”  My jeans may look fine, but they really should come up with better prizes.  I think the 50,000 point mark gets me a luggage tag.  I mean, given the choice between whip cream in an aerosol can and useless plastic accessories, Reddi-whip wins hands down.

The holiday season might have been relaxing, I can’t remember.  It did seem very long.  The boys enjoyed the break in routine, but fought a lot.  Joey in particular has entered a difficult phase as his answer to everything is “no, I don’t want to!”  He has also stopped eating food.  Apparently when you spend a week dragging your children into work with fast food lunches, they lose the ability to eat anything else.

In order to reverse this new behavior, my husband decided to institute a point system for Joey.  If he eats seven non-processed dinners in a row, he gets a pack of Pokémon cards.  This has had virtually zero affect in getting Joe the contrarian to comply-- although Jack has now become keenly interested in Joey’s eating habits.

Jack will do about anything for new Pokémon cards.  I don’t know anything about the game, but "Pokémon" is evidently Japanese for “pocket monsters.”  Trading these cards has become some sort of neighborhood phenomenon. Every day after school, the Pokémon quorum assembles in the far off corner of the playground, where a mass of little entrepreneurs vigorously hone their ability to wheel and deal. They are all boys.

I think it’s rather fascinating, to see what drives the young male mind to barter.  Jack loves the sport of it, and seems naturally coercive; as he will somehow come out of the after-school-trading-session with at least two cards, even when he forgets his stash and has nothing to offer.  Maybe he just has very benevolent friends.

The card trading has this lingo which might as well be Japanese.  It is virtually the only thing my boys talk about every mother-lovin’ moment of every day, as they are never without a wad of cards clenched in their little fists.

“Hey Jack, what’s the HP in tri-million?”

“He’s a fire type, with 150 HP.”

“Wow! How did you get this one?”

“I traded if for Bulbasaur.”

“Cool, how many points is that?”

“I don’t know. 60 HP?”

“Wow, is that a lot of damage?”

“It’s about 40 damage.”

“Jack, can Phanpy beat Bulbasaur.”

“No Joe he’s a plant type.”

“Yeah but he’s got fire coming out of his bottom…”

There’s also some sort of sub-plot with “energy”, “weaknesses” and semi-precious jewels.  The sparkly cards seem to be worth more.

My brother informed me that HP refers to “hit points.”  Ah yes, it all gets back to points.  What is my point?  I think I need more points.  Anyway, maybe I could persuade Jack to give me Phanpy and I could trade it for that neck lanyard.  Although I’d still need to do about 10,000 ab-crunches.

Like any system of commerce, however, greed takes over-- slowly but surely, we do become our idols.  The other night, the banter became less friendly as Jack refused to do business with his brother.  I could hear it escalating from the kitchen.  It ended with a monstrous rage where Jack roared into his little brother’s face with every “hit point” he had. “Get- out- of- my- faaaaace!!!!”  Rejected & terrified, Joey began sobbing.

When I walked into the living room, Jack was breathing hard and teary eyed.

“Jack! What have you done to your brother!?”

“But I don’t want to trade with him!”

“Did you need to scream in his face like that?”

“no.”

“I want you to apologize to your brother right now.”  Jack whimpered remorsefully, “sorry Joe.”

“Now what do you think we should do about this behavior.  You’ve been very mean to your brother lately.  What would be an appropriate punishment?”

Without a word, Jack handed me his enormous stack of cards.

“Mom, I think you should take them for a day.”

Astonished, I took them from his hands.  As he let them go, his face relaxed with the most beautiful look of relief. It was like he realized the cards had some power over him, and he needed me to take them away.

As we sat down at the table for dinner I decided it was an important moment for Jack’s heart, and so I took out the bible and began looking for a good story.

Luke 18: 18-27

 A certain ruler asked him, "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Why do you call me good?" Jesus answered. "No one is good—except God alone. You know the commandments: 'Do not commit adultery, do not murder, do not steal, do not give false testimony, honor your father and mother.’" "All these I have kept since I was a boy," he said. When Jesus heard this, he said to him, "You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." When he heard this, he became very sad, because he was a man of great wealth. Jesus looked at him and said, "How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." Those who heard this asked, "Who then can be saved?" Jesus replied, "What is impossible with men is possible with God."

“Jack, why do you think this man was sad? He was very rich.  He probably had the biggest stack of Pokémon cards of all his friends.”

Joey interrupted--

“Mommy, I love Pokémon cards.”

“He was sad because he didn’t want to give his things away?"

“Mommy, Pokémon cards are the coolest.”

“He didn’t want to give them away, because he loved his things more than Jesus.  Even though he followed all God’s laws, he really didn’t love God.  He just loved his Pokémon cards. God wants us to love him more than anything else. Here’s another story…”

Joey butted in--

“Mommy, I love Jesus too…and Pokémon cards.”

Mark 22: 34-40

Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: "Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied: "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."

“Mommy, can Jesus beat Phanpy?”

“Yes Joey, Jesus is more powerful than Phanpy. He’s got a gazillion HP.  Jack, what is Jesus saying here?  What’s the most important thing, the most powerful commandment, the one that’s the greatest?”

“Love God first.”

“And then what?”

“Love your neighbor.”

“And who’s your neighbor? Besides Christopher.”

“I don’t know.”

“Your brother, right?”

“Yes.”

“And what happens when we love something more than God, when we want Pokémon cards more than God?”

“It makes us sad.”

“And what else happened tonight?”

“It makes me not love Joey.”

“What do you think happens when we love God first?”

“We love other people?”

“When you love God first, then you can love your brother.”

Jack looked sad.  I knew it was time for grace.

“You know what the best thing is? Jesus knows we need help loving each other and loving God, so he loves us first and best, no matter what.  You can tell Jesus you’re sorry, and he loves you and forgives you.  He loves you the best.”

Jack smiled as he quietly stuffed his mouth with dinner.

As I tucked him into bed that night he gave me a big kiss, and his usual ear wiggle.

“Mom, we’re doing the second best commandment, right now.”

“I suppose we are.  I love you Jack.”

“I love you more...but not as much as Jesus.”

That was better than a lifetime supply of Reddi-whip.  Nothing gets me like Jack’s gushy heart.  I knew it was there somewhere, underneath all those little monsters.  They have no points or power here.

Apparently Christmas is next week. I have purchased no presents. I have not sent out any cards. I have no idea what to get the boys. We have not been to see Santa yet. I have no idea if I will ever get to go shopping. The “Martha” in me seems to be in hibernation. My brain tells me I should be panicking right now, but apparently I don’t seem to care. I guess in one sense, our celebration has already happened.

Our church’s Festival of Lessons & Carols was this past Sunday. It was a “feast” of beautiful music and singing, and by all accounts of worship and attendance, was a huge success. On the way home from the concert Sunday night, my eldest son exclaimed from the back seat,

“Mom, Dad, I don’t know why, but I’m just feeling really happy right now.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I can’t explain it, but I’m just really really happy.”

Maybe it was the fun of the evening. As usual, Jack had stationed himself at the dessert table, and handed out cupcakes and cookies to everyone at the reception. Or maybe it was the joy of seeing mommy conducting the choir. When we got home, he wanted me to start showing him how to conduct. Or maybe it was just the whole experience of our community joined together, doing something really meaningful. Whatever it was, Jack had found his Christmas bliss.

Aside from the whirling dervish of preparing for the Festival, it’s been a good Advent for us. The decision to not focus on gifts has been especially good for the boys. I’ve been really surprised at how little they have even talked about presents. They haven’t been begging or hinting or whining. We’ve done a lot of scripture study at the dinner table. We call our study time “Where’s Christmas?” This is where we try and find Christ in whatever Old Testament story or prophecy that we read. It’s amazing how everything in the Old Testament points to Christ. Jack is becoming better at figuring out the clues. Four year old Joey does all he can to partake in the conversations, blurting out any biblical name whether or not it has anything to do with our study.

“Ok, here’s the story of Abraham, let’s see if we can find Christmas in this story. Who was Abraham?”

“Joseph!”

“No.”

“Who was Jesus’ daddy?”

“Abraham!”

“No.”

“John the Baptist!”

“No.”

“Mary’s great great great great great grandpa!”

And so on. It’s somewhat amusing. Jack will roll his eyes,

“Mr. Non sequitur!”

But Joey is slowly figuring things out. He’s certainly got a better grasp of the Christmas story than he had at the beginning of Advent.

That first weekend of December, Joey was sick and I had to stay home with him from church. I thought it would be good to take advantage of the one-on-one time and read to him about Christmas. I had bought a Playmobile nativity set, and brought this surprise out of the closet. I love Playmobile stuff. I love the way it is so smartly designed. I love the no-brainer diagrams. If only life could snap together as easily as a Playmobile diorama. At any rate, Joey was enthralled as I started unpacking all the characters and telling the Christmas story.

“Mommy look! Capes!”

Apparently the men figures had capes. As we lined up the Kings and started matching up their accessories, Joey began flying them through the air.

“Honey those are kings, not super heroes.”

“Kings are cool, mommy.”

“Do you know why there are kings here?”

“Because they’re cool.”

“No, because they are bringing the baby Jesus presents.”

“Presents are cool, mommy.”

“But do you know why the King’s are bringing Jesus presents?”

“Because they think presents are cool?”

“No, because Jesus is a King.”

“Joseph was a king too!”

“Yes he was, but we’re not talking about King Joseph, we’re talking about King Jesus. Jesus is King because he is God. He’s the greatest King over everyone, and that’s why the kings are bringing Jesus presents. To show that he is greater than them…”

“Jesus is the biggest King!”

“Yup, he was a baby, but he was King.”

We played some more and talked about Mary and Joseph and the angels and the shepherds. I felt confident that I had explained the story well.

As I left the room to start making lunch, and Joey continued to play with all the figures, a dialogue started to develop in his own little play world. I could hear it escalate from the kitchen.

“Hey, look at that baby, you see him, he’s a king…and here’s his mommy…and his daddy Joseph, but Joseph isn’t a king…look at that king, he’s a cool king too, but he’s not as powerful as me…yes I am…no you’re not!…Jesus is the King, he’s the most powerful…no he’s not, I’m the biggest king!…you’re not powerful, you’re a shepherd!…yeah but that angel has powers…but Jesus is the biggest!!…no he’s not! He’s a baby!!”

And before I knew it, a brawl was starting in Bethlehem. As I came out to clarify things, I found the nativity scene somewhat altered. 

All the Kings were brandishing their crooks and presents like weapons, and the angel was standing guard over baby Jesus. Mary was crying in the corner, and Joseph was surrounded.

“Joey, I don’t think Jesus would like fighting.”

“It’s ok, mommy, the angel will protect him.”

It was amazing to me that a four year old could so powerfully depict the real scene of our fallen condition. As I looked at his take on the Christmas story, played out in a battle scene, I was struck by how similar it was to the cover art of our Festival Program booklet.

Mystical Nativity, Botticelli

The irony is that a battle was waged that day, as the bearer of our Peace came on the scene. It continues on as I decide whether or not to brave the mall, or just stay home and claim the peace that is mine in cherishing Christ.

No worries, there will be presents. But they will pale in comparison to the happy contentment Jack felt after being drenched in an evening of worship & community. That’s the only present I could ever want anyway.

One of the things that I miss most about living in the North is the cleansing experience of winter. Like a great eradicator, December in Wisconsin washes over the landscape, clearing every branch of every leaf. Grasses fade brown and grey, and the hues of life become brittle and barren. Everything dies off completely, setting the stage for the absolute transformation of spring.  Something within me really needs this winter desolation.

Living in the South, these distinctions are less defined, as one season peters out and blurs into another. Grass never really loses it’s green, and remnants of autumn leaves usually hang around all winter until the spring buds bust them out of the way.

Currently in my garden, all four seasons are represented. The yellow daisies of August are still hanging on for dear life-- while lining the street, the crepe myrtle trees are flush with blazing orange and yellow leaves, flamed by the recent drought. The huge holly tree that hangs over our driveway is lushly adorned with radiant red berries, while the Yule-tide camellia has started displaying its decadent red flowers. And for no apparent reason, in the front flower bed, the spring muscari and crocus bulbs have audaciously started breaking through the ground.

This bothers me. Like the email I just got from some catalog advertising a sale on it’s upcoming spring collection. It makes me want to mow everything down. It’s almost December--I want to clear the garden.

I was thinking about it yesterday as I was grocery shopping. In a post-Thanksgiving daze, I was wandering down the frozen food aisle looking for the waffles, when my ear picked up on the unmistakable music of the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. “Christmas time is here...” my mind blearily started singing along. I opened the freezer door, as frosty air poured down onto my feet.

“But wait, Christmas isn’t here. How can they be playing this music!? Christmas is more than a month away. Please, tell me it’s more than a month away. I still have a turkey carcass in my refrigerator! The kid’s Halloween candy buckets are still on top of my refrigerator!”

But alas, it’s true. Christmas is coming soon. And like some deer gazing at the impending doom of the oncoming truck, my end is certain. I need to get off the road…which brings me to Advent.

This year, our family and church community is taking part in an intentional “getting off the road.” It’s part of a movement called “the Advent conspiracy”.  The thrust of the season is that we “worship MORE, spend LESS, give MORE, love ALL.” Check out the website for more info.

Basically we are intentionally not partaking in the “holiday” rush, and instead thinking about how to experience  Emmanuel, “God with us” in a real way.

When I think about all that is happening in our lives right now, this type of worship is my only shot at having the true gift of Christmas. My yearly tragedy is that I miss the joy of Christmas by drowning in it.  My part time job is now becoming a full time affair, and our Christmas program is only three weeks away. 

And so I won’t  be sending out cards this year.  I have absolutely no idea how I would get it done anyway. We’re not buying gifts for everyone. We’re not going to buy the boys umpteen presents. We’re not talking with the boys about what they’re gonna get. We’ve started talking about what we’re going to give. I’m making some gifts. Our community is going to be taking part in some outreach projects. We are also going to take account of everything NOT spent, and then in turn offering it towards outreach and missions.

We’re going to try and clear the landscape.

After all, Easter is really early this year. My flower bulbs can’t even wait.

In case you were pondering the best method for preparing your Thanksgiving feast, chef  Jack has a few good tips.  The question remaining is- can anyone recommend a good plumber?

Gobble-Gobble Y'all!