Thanksgiving

Some things I am thankful for, in a season when it is all too easy for me to not have that attitude:

1) The guy that put lemon juice in a squeeze-bottle. I am rediscovering how refreshing a little (well, a tablespoon or so) of lemon juice is in a glass of ice water. Is that a lot? I'm trying to wean soda, including the diet and artificially sweetened kind, from my diet. Not completely or ever, just more often than I used to. A slice of lemon is nice, but lacks staying power, and a whole lemon in a glass is a lot of effort, with seeds, and is not very cost effective. The bottled juice is wonderful.

2) The old friends who sent me Christmas cards this year. I've been feeling pretty Grinchy the past few weeks, and remembering that life does not end when one is 28, unmarried, and (in my case, a given) childless. With the swarm of babies being born to friends and family right now, +/- 5-6 weeks, that has been occasionally hard to remember. Just being remembered in a season that has come to epitomize both the swarm of rejections that have happened at this time of year and the celebration of those close to me who have exactly what I miss, helps me realize that I am who I am - not who I am not - and that defining one's life by negatives sucks.

3) The Lange kids. Feeling like a non-blood-uncle to some young kids helps when I have none of my own to play with. Holding one when praying that someone will see get the candles we gave out and be reminded of the God Who Became Man reminds me what a step that was. Though Jesus was not a blue-eyed, blond-haired girl, I wonder how often he wanted to talk when the adults were trying to be quiet, how often he wanted to just go tearing around the room, (perhaps chasing his cousin John), how Mary and Joseph must have taught him to eat, to drink, to be a creature of flesh and blood. For the record, I think hearing kids being kids when the adults try to be quiet and reverent has always enhanced my appreciation for Christmas - because Jesus was just one of those kids, too. When we make it all "Silent Night," we lose something. The Jesus crying for Mary's milk is the Jesus of the cross. The "Little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes" is the Jesus of the crucifix.