A Very Yoda Christmas

Time for an informal readers' poll - assuming you have a Christmas tree, how is it decorated?  Are you all about themes?  Does everything match?  Or are you a believer in what I like to call the Christmas tree as a catch all?  There is a little bit of everything on your tree and you like it that way.

We are most definitely part of the catch all clan.  Don't get me wrong, thematic, symmetrical, and color coordinated trees are not bad, it is just not what I grew up with.  Our trees have always been a testament to our...how to say this...eclectic nature.  Yeah, that's it, eclectic!

At this moment our tree is covered with ornaments of all shapes, sizes, colors, and textures imaginable.  There are glass globes, shinny (oooh, shinny) metal snowflakes, felt ribbons, as well as ornaments made from ceramic, plastic (some of them light up and move) and various paper and clay projects constructed by our kids at school.

Each year we carefully (meaning don't let the kids touch the fragile ones) unwrap our ornaments and hang them on the tree.  Within the first two and a half minutes someone (usually me) is asking where a particular ornament came from.  It is truly amazing how my wife or children can remember, in great detail, the events surrounding the acquisition of a particular ornament, events I was supposedly present for, but I have absolutely no recollection of.  There are days when I wonder if they are making it all up to mess with me, but then I realize that it would require more time and effort than they are willing to invest just to prank me.  So, I take them at their word, nod along as if it is all coming back now, and silently search for an ornament that looks familiar.

Some of our ornaments were bought in the store (often after-season clearance), while others came as gifts from friends and family.  Some are filled with memories, some remind us of long-standing jokes, and a few we keep around because our children made them in preschool and we are not sure how to get rid of them without hurting someones feelings.  There are a couple, however, that no one knows where they came from or why we continue to put them on the tree.  One of such ornament is a 4-inch tall plastic Yoda.

I like Star Wars.  A lot.  So do my kids, which fills me with all sorts of warm and fuzzy feelings.  Still, I return to the key word here, like.  You know, I like you as a friend but not as a boy/girl friend sort of thing.  It is cool that we hang out and stuff, but I don't see us picking out china patterns and raising a family.  Yes, we own all the movies, and of course I have most of the dialogue from the original three films memorized, but let's put things in perspective here.  I am not obsessed with Star Wars and even if I did have a problem (which I don't) my favorite character is not Yoda.  So how did this replica of Yoda leaning on his walking stick end up on my Christmas tree?

I have this weird vision that a thousand years from now some archaeologists will be digging up the remains of what was our house and discover our Yoda ornament (perhaps they will be ape-like creatures and someone who looks like Charlton Heston will be walking around in a loin cloth as well).  From this one artifact, this one cast-off item, these archaeologists will begin to tell a tale of me and my family, one that involves Yoda, an alter, a liturgy designed to win the favor and blessing of master Yoda, and perhaps even animal sacrifices.  No one will know, or probably even care, that Yoda was not a deity (at least not in our house) but an ornament that we hung on a tree in the month of December every year.

Objects can tell stories, but not always the right ones.  How often do we look at the kind of car a person is driving and make assumptions about who they are and what they do for a living?  We do the same thing with clothing, houses, shoes and various other items (including Christmas trees).  I like to go for walks in the evening when it is quiet and I can think.  Often people will have their blinds or curtain open and their television sets on.  Try as I might, it is really hard not to see a 48 inch plasma filling up a living room and not make some ill-informed observations about the people who live in that house.

There are a number of people in this world who seem, on the outside at least, to have it all together.  The perfect job, family, friends, house, car, etc...  Yet, inside, they are really hurting.  And, there are people who do not have much but are very happy and content with their lives.  And folks who are happy and wealthy, poor and in a lot of pain, and everything in between.  My point is that possessions, or the lack thereof, are not always a good indication of need.  To really know what is going on in someones life we have to make and take the time to get to know that person.  And that is so hard in a culture that values owning things over making time for other people.

This is the season of giving.  Let me encourage you to give something very important this year - your time to someone else.  Get to know them, what they long for as well as what they fear (you can even learn if they have a 4-inch plastic Yoda hanging on their Christmas tree).  And if they are willing, let them get to know you.  Learn someone else's story and allow it to transform your life.  For that is the power in the gift of relationships.  Our joys become complete when we share them with someone else, our pain can be eased by the loving care of another.  That is what Christmas is all about, God's willingness to enter into our lives and allowing us to truly enter God's.  It is what life, true life, abundant life, is all about.  What a gift!

Copyright © 2010, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved

Evil (or not so evil) Ex's

I finally got around to watching Scott Pilgrim vs. the World a few weeks ago.  Yes, I know, it came out over the summer but I have been really busy.  Besides, that is why God invented DVD's.  If you have not seen Scott Pilgrim I highly recommend it.  It is one of those rare films when Hollywood fantasy actually nails human reality. 

The "hero" is a bit of a loser, a twentysomething who plays bass in a band, has no place of his own and is dating a high school student.  That is until he meets the girl of his dreams.  Literally, the girl he was dreaming about suddenly shows up in his life.  There is one small problem.  In order for Scott to make this relationship work he has to defeat, in mortal combat, his dream girl's seven evil ex's. 

The fantasy part of this flick is that every time Scott duels it is like a video game, complete with his adversaries turning into game tokens whenever he defeats them.  The reality is that Scott, and his would be girlfriend, each come with a past that has to be dealt with (yes, even one of Scott's old girlfriends shows up to create problems).

Call it "baggage" or whatever pop psychology term you like best, but all of us carry around the effects of previous relationships on our lives.  This is not necessarily a bad thing, for some of our relationships have been healthy, happy and a very positive influence on who we are and how we relate to other people.  Love, trust, respect, and compassion are not just ideas, they are lived and learned in relationship with other people.  Sometimes.  Suspicion, selfishness, indifference and even hatred are forged in the fires of dysfunctional and unhealthy relationships (and middle school).  And they linger around, ready to make a mess of any relationship at any time.

Perhaps you are one of those rare and fortunate individuals who has not been involved in a bad relationship.  Your parents loved and cared for you, your siblings got along, your teachers nurtured and encouraged you, you have not been stabbed in the back by your boss or coworkers, and you heart has never been broken by a lover.  If so, congrats!  You are most blessed (resented by many, but blessed). 

The rest of us...well, we have not been so lucky.  We know firsthand about abusive or absent parents, brothers and sisters who don't get along, educators who spent a lot of time telling us what we would never be able to accomplish, really messed up work environments, and love affairs that ended in a great deal of pain.  Truth be told, we have not just been the victims of bad relationships, but on a few occasions have been part of the reason they did not work out.

All of this - the good, the bad and the really ugly - impacts how we relate to other people in the here and now.  What I liked about Scott Pilgrim was the movie's playful, yet really insightful acknowledgement that we have to deal with other peoples previous relationships if we are going to have any sort of meaningful relationship with them ourselves.  Granted, most of the time we will not have to mortally wound the evil ex's (or parents, teachers, or coworkers) of those we care about.   But there are days when it feels like you are in pitched combat with old ghosts, ones you cannot see and don't always understand.

Scott is so smitten with his fantasy girl that he keeps fighting, even when he gets his butt kicked (check out the scene where Scott has to battle the vegan rock star.  Classic).  Yet, something about this girl makes it worth all the hassle.  In true Hollywood fashion, when all the dust settles, Scott emerges victorious and, of course, walks off hand in hand with his dream girl.  Oh, if life were so neat and tidy!

As I was watching Scott Pilgrim I kept thinking, "Would I really go through  all of this for a girl?"  Forget the girl, is any relationship worth fighting for?  Am I worth it to someone else?

I can, in all honesty, say that yes, I have spent the past 17 years dueling it out with my wife's evil ex's.  And she has been battling for me just as long (though I am sure there are days when it seems more like a million years).  Since we are being candid here I have to confess that there have been more than a few relationships that I failed to put up enough of a fight for.  For whatever reason (and I am sure at the time I thought I had a least one really good reason) I did not feel that the person was worth the effort.  It is cold and crass, but true.  There have been a number of people who have bailed on me as well (and one occasion when I got back into a relationship simply to pay the person back for dumping me.  Not one for the highlight reel).

What makes a relationship worth fighting for?  How do we determine whether someone is worthy of our strength and patience?   Is there a time when a relationship with another person is simply not possible, no matter how hard we work at it?  Are we always worth the effort?

There are truly abusive relationships that one or both parties should walk away from for their own health and safety.  Yet, on the whole, I think that the answers can be found in God's relationship with us.  Or, to put it another way, perhaps we should do to others as it has already been done to us.  I know, this sounds like the inside of some cheap greeting card.  And that is where it should stay, except that I can bear witness to the fact that God has indeed hung in there with me far longer than I could have ever hoped to imagine.  Through all of my miscues, mistakes, and out right stupidity God has refused to abandon me.  God continues to reach out to me, use me, call me, love me, "baggage" and all.  God keeps sending people into my life to help heal the wounds of past relationships and provides me opportunities to make right the people I have hurt.

In return, God asks that I extend the same willingness to battle to my relationships with other people.  And not just the people I love and care for, but also the ones who I just really don't like.  Especially the ones I really don't like.  It is not easy, but it is worthy it.  For I have discovered that it is often in the relationships that I truly want to bail on that I found love, hope, and compassion in greatest strength and measure.

Copyright  © 2010, Roger Burns-Watson, All Rights Reserved

Conjunction Junction

So, I am watching the TV last night and this strange commercial comes up.  There is some guy dressed like Willy Wonka talking about the land of and (I won't mention the name of the product he was pushing because at The Blog we have a moderately firm policy of not doing product placement without serious financial compensation...which sadly never seems to come our way). 

For some unknown reason this weird commercial got me thinking about my childhood.  It may have been the use of that one word, and, that set me off down the hallways of days gone by.  "And" reminds me of Saturday mornings, a bowl of sugar coated sugar, and cartoons.  During the commercial breaks one network (again, no free product placements) would run the greatest PSA's of all time- Schoolhouse Rock.  Who said nothing good came out of the 70s (wait, I did.  Oops.)

A bit of context is in order here.  For a reason that I have never understood my family lived in a part of town where we could not receive the local PBS station.  Remember, this is pre-cable/satellite, so we were held hostage by those little rabbit ear on top of the tube.  Did my parents have an axe to grid with PBS?  Were they unwilling to pay when Big Bird came by to shake everyone in the neighborhood down?  Or did we really just not get the station?  I do not know, but I am certain that PBS was not part of my childhood.  Which means no Sesame Street, no Electric Company, nothing.  Any educational programing that my siblings and I received came on Saturday morning.  Thus the disproportionate influence that Schoolhouse Rock had on my life.

For those of you who are regular readers of The Blog, the following statement will come as no surprise - I am not very good with English grammar.  Whatever gene is required to diagram a sentence is missing in my DNA.  What little I know, and it is little, I learned on Saturday mornings.  Schoolhouse Rock was the beginning, middle, and end of my education in grammar.  Deeply impressed in my psyche is the ditty known as "Conjunction Junction."  Whenever I hear or read the words "and" "but" or "or" I think of a railroad yard.  Conjunctions connect things, or at least that is what the little conductor on "Conjunction Junction" told me.  Over and over again.  I had no reason to believe that the TV would lie to me.  Then again, it was Saturday morning, I was hyped up on processed sugar, and thus susceptible to believe most anything.

I still hold to the conviction that conjunctions connect things.  Yet, I also think that these simple words can define people and their relationship to God.  There are 'and", "but", and "or" relationships.  All three exist in Scripture, yet they are very different ways of understanding how God interacts with us, and how we live with God.  How?  Well, that is what we will be exploring over the next few days.  In the meantime, grab a bowl of your favorite kids cereal (once again, no free product placements).  A good sugar high is not just for kids.

Talk to Homer - He Might Care

There's hunger in Africa,

And anger on assembly lines.

At the touch of a button

I'm miles away.

I want no connection, just information,

And I'm gone.

My Global Mind by Queensryche

A few years ago a dear friend gave my wife and I a life-sized cardboard cutout of Homer Simpson.  He is standing with his arms crossed with a surly look on his face.  Being a big fan of both the Simpson's and surly looks (I have a teenager, after all) I loved it.  So did my wife.  We decided to put it in our office at church.  It was great, the first thing people saw when they walked into the minister's office was surly Homer.
I, however, was not content just leaving Homer in the office to make people wonder what sort of freaks worked at this church.  No, I felt a divine presence had brought him to us for a reason.  For days, nay weeks, I pondered what use I could make of Homer.  While I was in deep meditation over this weighty issue someone came into the office complaining about something that I felt was a complete and utter non-issue.  Someone had too much time on their hands, and it was not me.  It was at that moment that the heavens opened up and all became clear.  Homer had been sent to help me deal with all of the annoying people in my life.  Thank you, Jesus!
When my wife returned to the office I shared with her my glorious revelation.  We would make a sign that read "Talk to Homer, he might be the only one who cares," and we would put it around his neck.  Every time someone came to us with some pointless complaint or wanted to gossip or otherwise waste our time we would point them to the sign.  I waited for her response, knowing that she would be so impressed with the concept that she would offer to make dinner that night.  She looked at me for a second and then, with a rather surely look on her face, said "NO!"  Not, "no," or "No," either of which would have indicated that while not thrilled with the idea she could be persuaded.  "NO!" meant end of discussion.  Not that I did not try and change her mind.  I regard "NO!" the same way I do speed limit signs - they are more of a suggestion, a guideline if you will, rather than a fixed law.
I attempted to explain to her that this would not only keep people from coming to us with all of their petty gripes but it would send a powerful message to the congregation about the need to keep things in perspective.  Once again, "NO!"  When I pressed her for a little more detail she simply said (with the same surly look on her face) that it would discourage people who really needed to talk to us from doing so.  Homer stayed and the sign never saw the light of day.  Sometimes "NO!" really means "NO!"  Stupid "NO!"
Some might argue, as my wife the minister did later on, that I was being too dismissive of people.  "No," I responded (not "NO!" just "No") "you can never be too dismissive in American society.  It is a necessary survival instinct.  Without it you would go nuts."  We are bombarded with an endless cycle of requests each day.  Turn on the TV and someone is trying to sell you something.  Drive down the road and the billboard is trying to sell you something.  Flip on the radio, even supposedly commercial-free satellite radio, and someone is trying to push something on you.  Magazines, newspapers, and oh, lest we forget the scourge known as direct mail, aka junkmail.  How can you not be dismissive in this culture?  If we paid attention to everything around us we would have a complete and utter meltdown.
I was at a conference where one of the speakers worked in advertising.  He pointed out an interesting fact.  On any given day there are countless ads in the newspaper for tires.  We tend not to notice them, until we need tires.  Then, suddenly, we see them.  He's right.  We have developed a remarkable survival skill in an age of hyper commercialism.  It gets applied to every part of our lives, including relationships.  I like to think that my Homer sign bothered my wife because it said what we really thought.  And honesty can be brutal.  I also think my wife was right in her belief that the Christian faith calls all of us, not just clergy, to care for and about each other.  The problem is trying to live that out when we have to dismiss in order to survive.  I am not sure what the answer is.  I think I will go and talk to Homer for a while.  He might not only care, he might have some answers.  I will let you know tomorrow.

Changes part 3

She is an angel, she is in him
She's got my big toe, and her mother's lips
She gives fishy kisses, and great big bear hugs
42 pounds of pure love
Then one day she'll be 17, feelin' too big for her home
Seems she was just only 3, oh how our children they grow
You watch them grow, then you let 'em go

Watch Them Grow Zach Gill

There are some things in life you cannot understand until you experience them. Marriage would be one. Parenting another. You are welcome to read all the books you want, but it will not help (yes, this even applies to the What to Expect series). Until you have kids you have no idea what you are in for.

I am a big fan of having multiple children, though I prefer to have them one at a time. Why? Well, the tax write-off is not a bad thing, but really it has to do with practice. See, the first go-round you have no clue what the hell is going on. Everything is a mystery, from diapers to teething to school to soccer to dating to going off to college to... You make mistakes. Child number two comes along and you have a vague idea of what you are doing. Only, this child is different from the first and it takes you a while to figure this fact out. So you make more mistakes, though they are different than with your firstborn. Here is why number three is crucial. With your third child you get a chance to put your all-pro parenting skills on display. The five-second rule, which showed way too much paranoia on your part, matures into the if-nothing-is-on-it-go-ahead-and-stick-it-in-your-mouth rule. By child number three even that is really more of a guideline than a rule. You panic less, take fewer pictures, stop putting every finger painting on the fridge door, and accept that your children will eventually understand that ranch dressing is a condiment not a food group.

There is, however, always lurking in the back of your mind the knowledge that at some point in time you will run out of children. If you do your job right your kids will grow up into adults. And this, dear reader, makes me feel very uncomfortable. I love my kids. I love who they are and where they are right now. I have one going into high school. We go to the movies together and share our love of Green Day and Monty Python. My son is old enough to have his own interests but still wants to hang around with me. I can not tell you how much I treasure that. My youngest is not a baby anymore, but still of an age where she gets into things for free (and remember, free is our friend.) She likes it when I read to her, though she is learning to read on her own. I am at a perfect place. It's like a parenting buffet. I don't want it to change.

So, of course, it is changing. There is a part of me that can't wait to do adult things with my adult children (my oldest and I already have a date at a pub on her 21st birthday.) Yet, most of me does not want to lose what I have right now. I guess I could try and freeze my relationships with my children, always treating them like I do right now, but I doubt that it would work out well and the therapist bills would bankrupt us all.

As I ponder (read obsess) what to do I think about my relationship with God. God has watched children grow up billions of times, so there must be some great wisdom and insight I can glean (of course, God gets to keep making new children, which does not seem entirely fair, but who am I to complain?) What I keep coming back to is that I do not need to fear losing my children. They were of God before they were a gift to my wife and myself. They are God's children created in God's image and that will never change. I also don't need to be afraid of growing old myself, for I too will always be a child of God. Finally, it is okay to miss holding my kids hands when we walk across the street, but there will be other hands to hold. Perhaps my own grandchildren. If not, then the hand of another child who needs someone to care and love for them. There are a million different ways that I can interact with children each and every day and participate in the joy and wonder of their lives.

The fact that my children are growing up has helped open me up to God's call to live beyond myself. Instead of lamenting what I sense I am losing, I can reach out and share my love for children in new and exciting ways. Of course, I they are not "my" kids then I will lose the tax break. I will need to find a way around that little problem...legally, of course.