Kids in Leaf Piles

In my hometown, Randolph Street is one of the major streets, from the I-70/U.S. 40 interchange on the west side of town to U.S. 40-51 on the east side (and it continues a couple blocks east). But when I was young, Randolph St. hadn't yet been extended west and was a quieter street in the area near Jefferson Primary School, safe for a kid to cross. A grade school friend lived along Randolph (he's still a Facebook friend). Sometimes I'd walk home with him after school and we'd have adventures at his house before my mom picked me up for supper.

I remember one autumn when we played in the fallen leaves in the little park across the street, along Cook Street. One day, my friend buried me in leaves as I lay face down in a ditch. What fun to look around and see nothing but brown and red leaves! My mom was displeased, because I'd gotten so dirty.

One of my devotional guides (Living Faith, Nov. 28, 2013) has a nice image of children and autumn leaves. For adults, the shed leaves are a sign of death, and a chore to rake and discard. Children, on the other hand, see the signs of death as a chance to be happy and to live more fully. The devotion writer noted that we live in the season of end times since Jesus' Ascension, but faith in Jesus gives us the chance to live more fully and to "leap"happily into faith analogous to the way children leap into piled-up leaves.

That's a great image for Advent, which we begin today. Many late-autumn days are gray and most of the trees are barren. But there is a beauty in this chilly season. Death and life belong together, no matter how much we'd like to forget that. But death does not have the last word: new life is to come. We can feel great happiness during this season of transitoriness and promise.

(A post from last year) 

"What Does Justice Look Like?"

Good piece on justice and Ferguson, written by the treasurer of the city of St. Louis

http://m.stltoday.com/news/opinion/article_d69415f9-2a8b-5d39-adbb-6562fef0a9d2.html?mobile_touch=true

O Janky Tree

My daughter wrote on Facebook that she gets nostalgic for our old Christmas tree. The artificial limbs of different lengths were color coded by layer and lettered A, I, J, K, O, P, and Q, or something like that. But the colored tape wasn't differentiated well---black and dark brown, two shades of yellow. As the tape faded and became worn, the letters (in white, even on the yellow tape) became indistinct. Is this branch an O or a Q? An I or a J? Each year was a small adventure of figuring out which layer was which.

As my daughter said, she doesn't want to go back to that, now that we've a new tree. But she feels nostalgic for the process. That made me think of the way we dream about former times. My parents had a tacky tree: a little silver one with an accompanying rotating color wheel that made the tree brighten with different colors. I wouldn't want one now, but it's a Christmas memory.

"Mary kept all these things in her heart and thought about them often" (Luke 2:19, NLT). Sometimes the memories we ponder aren't amazing events, as were Mary's, but simple things that also connect us to Christ's birth.

Snow Light in Darkness

Yesterday we had a lovely snowfall, big snowflakes falling straight down with no urgency. In my afternoon class, we ignored the day's reading and talked about Ferguson instead, about what business owners could do to rebuild, to get insurance in the future.

Attending kindergarten in my hometown in 1962, I stood outside the school, waiting for my mother to retrieve me after the afternoon session, and I watched snowflakes fall upon my dark glove. I studied the six-point design, which I must've learned in school but hadn't yet observed in real life.

A "real life" quality of snow, that I didn't appreciate then, is the difficulties it causes for travel. My mother is gone now, and although it feels strange and sad that I'm not traveling to visit her for Thanksgiving, I'm also sadly relieved not to be going anywhere far today.

Along with snowflakes, I enjoy seeing light (the moon, or ambient light from the neighborhood) reflected from snow in the nighttime. The thin blinds on our bedroom windows glow as we fall asleep.

"[E]ven the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you," praises the psalmist (139:12). "I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I will do, and I will not forsake them" (Isa. 42:16).

"Models and Authorizations"

Good interview with Walter Brueggemann about Ferguson and the place of protest and prophecy in our faith.

https://medium.com/theology-of-ferguson/models-and-authorizations-an-interview-with-walter-brueggemann-3ab5ecd96c20

Prayer for This NIght

"Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is discord, harmony;
Where there is error, truth;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.

"O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life."

Snow falling on leaves

A Facebook friend posted a picture of new snow atop fallen leaves. During an errand that same day, I took a picture of leaves along the curb, at the little park up the street. The once yellow leaves were curled and brown, and the day's snow flurries partly covered the autumn color.

I've grown to love the contrasts of November. Everyone loves the beauty of October autumn, but by November the leaves are further along in the process of eventually becoming soil. That is a precious gift of the leaves. Some November days are warm, even warm enough for shorts. Other days remind us that we're nearly to winter.

People fuss about those contrasts, but our fussing is often cheerful conversation about something we can't help, which brings us together.