The Beauty in the Background

"So, this is Christmas." 

I'm not even a fan of John Lennon's famous Christmas song, but it's just kind of where I am this season. War is over and I'm approaching my first Christmas as a single, newly divorced parent. I have to admit, I knew this was coming last year. I didn't have a timeline, but I knew the end was very near as our marriage labored to hold on through one more holiday. I tried my hardest to make Chloe's last Christmas with both her parents as carefree and wonderful as possible, but it was hard and everything felt unnatural. I was going through the motions and I constantly worried it showed. I wanted so much more for my daughter than vague memories of an  unhappy marriage between her parents. 

I still want so much more for her, but this is just where we are right now and despite it being one of the hardest things in the world, I've come to the reality that I'm going to have to trust God with this. Trusting him with myself is easy. Trusting him with a creature I made from scratch, and value more than my own life, is an entirely different matter.  So, what do you do when you worry your precious angel is not going to remember the good? I guess the only thing you can do: You reach back into your own memories, pick them apart and try to salvage your sanity by figuring out your own past perspective. 

I have some fantastic memories from my childhood. They are truly wondrous. Sometimes, I forget that I even have them; they get lost in my mind and then flood back with a trigger. Normally, it's a familiar smell or a phrase, and I sit back and marvel in amazement that I had ever forgotten something so near to my heart. It happened the other night in my sister's kitchen. We were talking about Tolkien and my dislike of all his books, save for one: The Hobbit. (I'm pretty certain some of you will quit reading my blog this very moment, but I can't help it; I just don't care for Tolkien. So, there.) Where was I? Oh, yes...my grandmother. She is the only reason I even like The Hobbit. She read it to my sister and me when we were little. It was a giant book with beautiful illustrations and it took us almost six months to get through it during our spend the night visits. My grandmother was a librarian and loved reading. She read to us all the time and I loved every minute of it, even when it was an author I didn't particularly like. I have many memories of listening to countless books, but my favorite memory is the night it snowed. 

There is probably something you should know about me. I love snow. As a child, my parents gave me a snowflake charm on a little, gold necklace because almost every evening from December to April, I asked my father the same question: Is it going to snow, tonight? I was the eternal optimist. 

As a kid, was there anything better than that moment when you woke up to freshly fallen snow? 

Growing up in Georgia, snow almost always fell at night because that was the only time it was cold enough. My sister and I would faithfully watch Guy Sharpe on 11Alive News as he made his predictions for snow. I would get so excited, I could barely sleep. Over and over again I would peer out my bedroom window to see if anything had fallen. I just couldn't stand it. The waiting was miserable and wonderful all at the same time. There was so much hope in the anticipation. Then morning would come, and if we were lucky, the world would be dim and quiet and still when we opened our eyes. We would race to the window and stare at the beautiful white snow that had silently fallen in the night. I have so many memories like this. They've all run together and now it's more of a feeling than a specific moment. That is, all of them but one. 

Sometimes, beautiful memories spark from ugliness. My grandfather died of cancer when I was seven years old. He was only 47. My grandmother had to say goodbye to her high school sweetheart and the love of her life. I can't imagine. The night it snowed must have happened the first winter after he died because my grandmother was still living in her bungalow, cedar clad house in Red Oak. I loved that house, but it had lost it's warmth and safeness after my grandfather died. I think she must have felt the same way because she had us over to spend the night often. Each time we came, she read from the latest book we were tackling. Her voice was calming and she always spoke with perfect inflection. I often found myself hanging on each word, completely wrapped up in the story.

On this particularly cold night, she chose Winnie-the-Pooh to read to us. I'm not talking about that craziness that's plastered all over the tacky baby section at Babies-R-Us. That nonsense disturbs me. I'm referring to the actual children's book written by A.A. Milne.  It's one of my favorites and as we sat down to read it, for what probably was my first time, I remember things felt different in her house. That night it was completely dark. Not even the little light above her stove was on. In fact, I'm certain there wasn't a single light on in the entire house. Instead, she read the book by the light of the lamp post my grandfather had installed when he realized he wasn't going to beat his cancer. He didn't want my grandmother walking into the house in the dark. We sat on the couch with our backs to the widow to use the light from the lamp and she read to us for what seemed like hours. I remember leaning into her and snuggling down. I was sleepy and it felt so safe to be sitting there, listening to the lilt of her voice. I'm not sure if it was the story itself or the safe feeling that made us so still, but we sat motionless as she started and finished the entire book. All the while, we sat with our backs to the world outside. 

There's nothing too magical about that story. It was what happened afterwards that is burned into my soul. When she finished, I remember turning around and glancing out the window. The bare, cold ground that had been nothing but sticks and brown grass when we had begun the book was now covered in snow. Covered.  It was pouring out of the sky and apparently had been for quite sometime. Joy overtook all of us. My grandmother hadn't expected the snowfall either and the West Virginia girl in her was thrilled to see the white wonderland outside. It was as beautiful as Narnia under the White Witch's reign and we danced outside under the giant falling flakes. It was complete and utter enchantment.

I do have a point; I promise. That night when we three sat down to read Winnie-the-Pooh, there was nothing but ugliness around us. My grandmother was reeling from the loss of her husband, my sister was mourning the loss of her favorite grandfather and I was coming to terms with the fact that life would never be the same again. We were in complete darkness, in every way possible...but we didn't see the beauty unfolding around us. We were so focused on one thing that we didn't see God's hand moving, even the elements themselves, to bring beauty into our world.

So, that's what I'm counting on this Christmas. God will make the ugly beautiful. He will fill in the darkness with beauty, regardless of our focus. 

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

 I'm going to cling to that verse. Last Christmas was a struggle and this Christmas is the furthest from "traditional" one can get, but I'm certain God is working in the background to cover my sweet girl's memories with a beautiful blanket of white, glorious, perfect snow. And I refuse to focus on the ugly and ignore what He is doing in the background. He is doing wondrous things to shield her from the imperfections and leave her with beautiful memories.  This Christmas will be beautiful. He will do this for her. He will do this for me. He will do this for you. Regardless of what you're going through right now, God will bless you with seeing the beauty in it. And if everything in the background seems to be complete chaos, rest assured that God is working it all for your good. Beautiful chaos is still breathtaking. A million snowflakes falling haphazardly from the sky still create a something magnificent.  This is my prayer for all of us: That we see the beauty and cling to it always. 

The 5 Stages of Writer's Block

The 5 Stages of Writer's Block

1. I'M JUST GOING TO POWER THROUGH IT. 

Your initial gut reaction is complete and total denial that what you are writing is complete crap. (Yes, I used complete twice in my first sentence. This is a blog about writer's block. This sort of thing should be expected!) Instead, you keep rereading what you've written and think, "This isn't too bad." But in the end, it's the same as the time your Aunt Ethel dropped the bowl of banana pudding on the floor at the family reunion. For a brief moment everyone insists the desert can be saved, but soon it's realized that every piece of nastiness sticks to pudding. Sadly, you stare at your empty spoon while yumminess, mixed with pieces of hair and dirt, is scraped into the trashcan. (And secretly you are really pissed at Aunt Ethel. Forget the fact that she just had a hip replaced. The bitty shouldn't have taken on such a task of carrying the only dessert if she wasn't up for it.)

2. MAYBE SOME MUSIC WILL HELP

Music helps everything, right? So, let's listen to some tunes. You turn on Pandora or Spotify or whatever you think will help, and for the love of all that's sacred, it must be something mellow. After all, you are serious about your writing. You don't want to overpower the thoughts in your head that are surely coming. Does this help? Absolutely not. Instead, you get bored with your crunchy music and soon find yourself dancing around the room to "Check On It" by Beyoncé. Inevitably it happens; you see your reflection in a mirror and come to the sobering reality that shakin' your money maker isn't as awesome as it used to be. You can't figure out if you just can't move the same anymore or that it's just not pretty to see a 38 year old twerk. You call your best friend from college to ask her opinion and you make plans to go dancing to prove you've still got it.


3. I NEED TO EAT

Diets and healthy eating habits are going to suffer in this stage. It's pretty obvious. When you can't write, stuff your face with Devil Dogs and Ho Hos. In fact, you may want to make some homemade vanilla ice cream and then use that new fudge sauce recipe you found last week. It's yummy. You scarf it down, but after dancing so much your stomach really wasn't ready for that amount of sugar. You feel a little sick. Maybe you should lie down for a while until the queasy feeling subsides. As you lie there, you don't brainstorm because that would actually be productive. Instead, you contemplate really important things like the phrase "People lie down; chickens lay eggs." Or the fact that it annoys you to say "I am nauseated" when all you really want to say is "I am nauseous."


4. I THINK NOW IS A GOOD TIME TO SLEEP

Somewhere in between nauseated and getting upset at your "not so firm grasp" on effect vs affect, your eyelids get heavy and you decide a quick cat nap is a perfect idea. Before you know it you are...Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

5. SECOND ATTEMPT - SAY A PRAYER AND TRY AGAIN!

You wake up with the strength needed to try this again. After reading something you've previously written that didn't all together suck (in hopes of regaining some confidence in yourself) you will begin step 5. You have covered all forms of procrastination and hopefully somewhere along the way, the writing gods have smiled upon you, cleared your mind and a muse has been discovered. You sit down in front of your screen and start pounding on the keys, all the while praying you're going to get it out this time....because you are so sick of it rolling around in that head of yours and SO terrified the cycle will start again.

I am so sick of it rolling around in this head of mine!!!