Resolutions

The end of the year quickly approaches. And, with with so many other people, I am contemplating resolutions. I'm actually a huge fan of resolutions--I'm such a big fan, that I don't restrict myself to the beginning of a new year to make them. Any excuse will do, really. I make resolutions during Lent and Advent. But even with these designated extra times, I find myself wishing there was a time, smack dab in the middle of the summer for a period of resolution-making and attempted resolution-keeping. I find it amazing (and actually heartening) that in our modern world people still find the need for discipline. Because that's really what resolutions are about--we need an excuse to be disciplined, to stop the cycle of selfishness, of gluttonous, slothful, in short, sinful behavior. This is great, and should definitely be encouraged.

Oh, yeah, back to resolutions. As I mentioned in the last post, my resolution for Advent was to be more open (i.e. vulnerable). This is EXTREMELY difficult for me. It's actually quite the paradox that I am a writer that struggles with opening up, expressing the real me. But, there it is. And given four weeks to contemplate my struggle, and practice the virtues that accompany it, I barely scratched the surface. On Christmas Day, I shook my head, and muttered, "I need more time."

So, my first resolution of the New Year is, once again, to be open: to find that unique balance between "guarding my heart but not hiding my face." To be the real, authentic Marie. That's a tall order. It may take me beyond this year to achieve it. But, if you think about it, each saint did just that. They were completely, and unabashedly THEMSELVES. And, more importantly, THEMSELVES IN CHRIST. This then is the call to holiness, the call to sanctity. As St. Irenaeus so beautifully expressed: "The glory of God is man FULLY ALIVE." Here's to being fully alive in 2011.

The Best Christmas Ever

As I write, snow falls gently outside my window. It looks like we may have a white Christmas after all. Soon I will be decorating the house: setting up the Christmas village on our buffet table, wrapping the banister in garland, hanging Christmas lights, and, of course, decorating the Christmas tree.

This year Christmas will be different. My sisters will all have their new babies and husbands to look after, and, as the sole remaining unattached daughter, my role in Christmas preparations will be raised to new heights. It's hard, during these times, not to yearn for "Christmases long, long ago"--those Christmases (now very fuzzy and warm, like a commercial from the 80s) when my sisters and I rushed downstairs first thing Christmas morning, checking our stockings, and spying the gifts under the Christmas tree. And then those Christmases when, a bit older, we made seven different kinds of cookies while watching our favorite Christmas movies. We are creatures of habit. And it's even harder when we really enjoyed those now-fled rituals.

Last night, I confessed to my sister that my high (and unrealistic) expectations constantly set me up for disappointment. This year, I dream, Christmas will be THE BEST EVER. But my BEST EVER Christmas is usually a combination of all of my favorite Christmas memories: Midnight mass, stocking stuffed to overflowing, sticky buns all warm and gooey in the oven, hot, piping tea, snow falling down, Beethoven or a waltz by Strauss filling the air, opening presents, accompanied by my glowing family, the movie Christmas in Connecticut or one of my other perennial favorites, Christmas cookies, Christmas dinner, Andy Williams singing "It's the most wonderful time of the year," Egg nog and pumpkin pie, and then off to bed, happy, full, and fulfilled.

There's just one snag in my brilliant plan--life is far too complicated and mysterious for it all to unfold "as planned." Two of my sisters live at least an hour away. They will probably arrive at different times, and, depending on the weather, might not even be able to come. And even if they come, they will most likely have their hands too full to partake much in baking. And so, if I want my "Walton Christmas," I've got to do it myself. And, again, I better prepare myself for disappointment.

Fortunately, I have another option.

Instead of over-planning, fretting, and sweating to make everything perfect, I have a far better idea this year. This Advent, my "resolution" or desire was to be open: open to others through generosity and open to God through obedience, patience, and expectation. Yes, expectation.

Expectation is one of those words that can have both a negative and positive connotation. I can expect too much, and be terribly disappointed. But that kind of expectation comes from expecting too much of others, or myself. But, living in holy expectation is utterly different.

I think this can be best understood with the metaphor of the expectant mother. Technology may tell her that she should have her child on a certain day (her estimated day of confinement, or delivery). But, as one of my sisters and plenty other women could tell you, this truly is an estimate. You have no idea when your baby is coming. All you can do, then, is wait in expectation. This kind of expectation is an acknowledgment of your complete lack of control. And yet, you know that what is coming is going to be amazing, a true gift from God.

This year, my desire for Christmas is to have this attitude of expectation. Just as Mary and Joseph eagerly anticipated the birth of Jesus, so, too, I wait in joyful expectation for the coming of the Lord. And I know, without a doubt, that his presence in my life will far exceed any merely human expectations. With God in control, this may just be the best Christmas ever.