Christmas cards

So, confession time. I am horrible at them. I don't even have an address book. I am a last minute, adrenalin junkie who gets the really important stuff done in the nick of time. Well, not all the important stuff but you see where this is going. So writing and mailing out Christmas cards is one of those things I envy other women. The ones who also have an organized sock drawer and who put healthy, gourmet meals on the table each night. They have toddlers who love brussel sprouts and a Dyson.

And customized, glossy Christmas cards that arrive somewhere between the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas eve.

But seriously, what is it about these red and green paper confections that still strike a chord in our world weary hearts?

It's the one piece of mail you are likely to get this year that isn't trying to sell you something, or asking you to pay for something.

Who writes letters anymore? The days of rushing to the mailbox for a love letter are long gone, aren't they? Christmas time is the one time of year we take the time to share our hearts with one another. Granted, a glossy mass produced card is nice. But isn't a handwritten note so much nicer. And if the thought of writing notes to everyone on your list is dizzying, maybe you should have a shorter list. Is it an obligation, or a joy?

Maybe I am just trying to make myself feel better about not getting it together in time.

But, here's a thought from one I received today from a friend who'd asked me to volunteer with her at a local school,"Sharing yourself and your love is the greatest gift you could give these kids." She took the time to write a special note to just me. Just me. That means alot. Alot. So thanks.

Merry Christmas!

what's on the inside

Hanging out at street church last night, something occured to me. I felt like it was so profound that it shook me out of my blog coma and has inspired me to cyber jot it down.

As I scanned the crowd of at least three hundred (lots more in attendance for annual Christmas meal and gift give away, both volunteers and participants) I saw so many sick, broken,hurting and confused people. I can make these assumptions about them based on their appearance. Hold on, you say. Aren't you supposed to be a Christian. Aren't Christians not supposed to judge people. Yes and yes. But we - me- I should say- assume all sorts of things about people based on their appearance. The uniformed security guard, tells me with her presence, that she is here to protect me and my child. The man in the Hummer with the expensive clothes, tells me that he is well off. The priest in a collar tells me He (or she) is a woman or man of God. Of course there are exceptions to this but I think you will agree we understand the world and the people in it first based on what we see.

So as I scanned the crowd last night, my eyes rested on a heavy set woman digging through the piles of donated clothes. I couldn't not notice her. On her left cheek was a tumor, or cyst, about the size of an apple. It looked painful, and even among street people there is a heirarchy. Her attempt to share her umbrella with a man sitting next to her was rebuked in disgust. My heart broke for her. A thin man paced in front of the speakers smiling and rubbing his hands raw. Another man I noticed with ruddy weather chapped skin and a dirty, light up Santa hat reached out his hand to shake mine, "You have a very beautiful voice" he said.

I could describe in detail the physical afflictions so obvious in many of the homeless that were there last night, but I don't need to. I will get right to my point.

The way these people look on the outside, is how we all look on the inside.

I was perusing a local church website this morning and noticed that they had attempted to address all the questions a visitor might ask before coming on a Sunday morning. When asked "What do I wear?" The church replies: "Our concern isn't what's on the outside, but what's on inside. Come as you are. Besides, Jesus accepts us as we are when we come to Him. Why shouldn't we?" Though this idea is right on, do we practice it? We wear our Sunday best, the best we've got. We put on a smiling face. We say "God Bless You" and "What a blessing" and answer "Good, or great" when asked the ever familiar "How are you?" in passing.

But are we? Some people hide their wretchedness better than others. The sin of my mind and my heart is no greater than the sin of drug use, or theft, or whatever is plaugeing my homeless brothers and sisters. Though we serve the "less fortunate" at Christmastime, we are really no "less fortunate" than they are. But for Christ. If we could see with spiritual eyes, the faith of a homeless mentally ill man would astound and inspire us more than any sermon on Sunday.

God reminded me last night that Mary, the mother of God, the Savior of Humankind was an unwed, teenager. And Jesus told us himself that "Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head" (Luke 9). He was homeless.

God reaches into our mess, uses us for greatness we could only imagine, and makes us beautiful. If we let him.