in the midst of it all...

Merry Christmas everyone!

writing music.

aka what I listen to on repeat, while writing my paper (extensions are God's grace)...and coincidentally from one of my most favourite Christmas albums (yet not a typical Christmas song...). Thank you, Sufjan.

Don't mind me, it's the fever talking...

The other night Bodhi had a bit of a fever. Carleigh gave him some medicine and put him in bed while we were making dinner, but he didn't want to stay in bed. He wanted to be close to Carleigh. So, whipping up a makeshift bed in the kitchen, Bo watched me while I fried up some ground turkey. Carleigh had to run off to intervene in some sort of almost-catastrophe with the girls. And in the three minutes she was out of the kitchen, Bo, in his feverish state, topped the cake with the weirdest conversation we've ever had. Ever.

Bodhi: Hey Kaleen....I have your bum, and you have mine!
Me: Um...what Bo?
Bo: I have your bum...and you have mine!

At this point, I usually encourage Bo to think about talking about other things...but I was curious at where this one might be going...
 
Me: Oh...really? What do you mean?
Bo: We switched.
Me: And...please tell me...how did that exactly happen?
Bo: Oh, it's easy. You just have to wish for it. Like this...I wish my bum would switch! And then you say (cue sing-songy voice and little waving of the hand...)....bye bye bum!


Carleigh entered at that point and tried to interpret Bo's new philosophy of bum switching. She came up with the point that the kids are often told they have dad's lips, or mom's eyes, etc., and so maybe, just maybe this was what Bodhi was getting at, "right, Bodhi? Is that what you mean?"


Bo: Nope, I mean we switched bums. Bye, bye, bum!

Weirdest. Conversation. Ever.
And yet...I still think living with this kid and his family is one of the best decisions I ever made.
Even with the bum switching.

Clockwork, Christmas, and Control.

I am currently working on a 20 page paper due tomorrow.

As per my modus operandi, somewhere around hour 6 of the paper-writing process I begin to think obsessively:  

"I MUST blog now. Right now. This very minute." 

I do this thing where when working on a paper, or a blog, I let the thoughts simmer for a long time before writing. And evidently, the boiling point for both items occurs at the same time.

So here we are. (It's going to be a late night.)

I was struck with the realization yesterday that Christmas is coming. 

You might already be very aware of this. 

I wasn't.

In fact, Christmas will be here in three weeks, as of today.

At this rate, you might happen to see me in the mall on Christmas eve buying things "as seen on TV" because I ran out of time.

(Well, okay, probably not. More likely I'll get the idea that I can "make something" and will develop carpal tunnel from trying to knit that blanket that I thought was a brilliant idea somewhere around December 15th.)

On a related note (this will make sense at the end, I promise), there are moments in my job at the college when I think "wow, I get paid to be here". One such moment happened on Thursday last week during chapel. It was an advent-focused chapel, lead by a class of worship arts students. The focus was Christ's coming, and linking "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" with both the understanding that Christ came, and is yet coming to us again. 

Something hit me in that moment, that perhaps I too often live as though Christ came. 

Period. 

I forget the second part. 

As much as I want to live "carpe diem", I can't toss the future aside, simply because I can't control it. Or because I can't dream it. Or because I've lost hope.

Yes, it's true. 

While I attempt to live life as the eternal optimist, there are times where I lose hope. 

It makes me very, very human. 

It creeps into cynicism. 

And at its very worst, becomes apathy.

But when I think about Christmas and what it all means (i.e. not the mall or the knitted blanket), I think it is better to say I have misplaced hope. 

For, in my times of hopelessness, I am attempting to control whatever the situation is. 

I've misplaced hope, because I've tried to substitute it with power. 

And I simply can't. 

I'm not supposed to. 

I'm not in charge.

Somehow, the focus of the advent brought that realization to fruition:  

I am free to hope, and hope continues to free me...and that is the gift of Christ's love for me. 

It may not have been what those students were getting at, but it's what came to me in that moment we sang these words:

And what was said to the rose to make it unfold
Was said to me, here in my chest
So be quiet now, and rest.

Here is our King
Here is our Love
Here is our God who's come to bring us back to him
He is the one,
He is Jesus