I love to learn. 

Heh heh.  That is I love to learn when I’m in control of the learning and it’s going according to my plan. In short, when it is my idea.  Many lessons have to be foisted upon me, more than once, before I get the point. The acquisition of knowledge, the advent of understanding, the getting of wisdom…it’s like gathering armfuls of flowers.  

2011 will open a new vista for me.  After fifteen years of educating my boys at home, I spent two years working full-time while we pressed toward the goal of being debt-free.  My retirement day is fast approaching; my heart is beginning to gurgle with joy at the possibilities.

There is so much to learn.  And here is my short list of learning goals for 2011:

 

•  Learn musical notation software.  Finale is the version friends declare I need.  Get it. Use it. Love it.  And perhaps do a bit of composing.

•  Learn how to track investments correctly in Quicken.  I have “Placeholder Entries” which need to be fixed. This goes under the broader heading of paying attention to finances, learning more about the stock market, bonds, etc.

•  Learn profound contentment with one serving of food.  Ahem. Practice, practice, practice!

•  Learn how to take pictures with my new camera, a Nikon D3100.  I’m drooling to make bokeh.  And to be able to toss around words like aperture, depth of vision, f-stops and those lens numbers with the smallest measure of intelligence.  As my brother says, “Get out of auto focus.” This also falls under the larger goal of spending more time outside.       

•  Learn ten new Bach pieces on the piano.  If I were ambitious I’d include Chopin, because Chopin always killed me as a girl.  Not that Bach is an easy walk on the tundra. The last few years I’ve only played piano for the joy and comfort of playing. I’m actually itching for some disciplined study.

•  Learn how to listen without thinking of what I’ll be saying next. 

  

•  Learn to make time for regular letter writing.  Ink on paper letters.  Goodness, I have the cards and stationery!

•  Learn the value of daily stretching.  It’s bizarre to get up in the morning creaky.

•  Learn to look through the microscope.  We have a worthy one.  I’m a bit science-phobic, but I think I could handle this.  I don’t need to keep a journal (or perhaps I do).  I just need to look.  Sort of on a daily basis.  Are there enough things available to put under the lens?  Surely there must be.

•  Learner’s option: learn how to knit.  Or.  Learn how to quilt.  I love the idea of knitting. But I love reading more.  

Once there was an older boy who was wondering to himself about Christmas: I wonder why we make such a big deal about the birth of Jesus when his birth really doesn’t save anyone?

The question was not going away, so he approached the theologian of his family, his father. Dad, since the birth of Jesus doesn’t really save anyone, why do we make such a big deal about it?

His father was very pleased with such a question, and he began to think of a helpful illustration. So he asked his son: Whenever you play a game of baseball, what do you need?

His son began listing all the components he could think of. A baseball, a bat, a glove, a playing field, four bases, 17 more players, and an umpire. He looked questioningly at his father.

You also need to know the history of the game, the rules, and baseball strategy. You need the skills to hit, throw, and field the ball. You need a scorekeeper, base coaches, a line-up, grandstands, a crowd, hot dogs, and coke. The father stopped there and looked at his son.

So, what’s your point? The boy asked. His father smiled–he loved that question most of all. If you only had a baseball, could you play the game?

Of course not, said the boy.

The father’s anticipation grew as he asked the clincher. If you had everything else, but no baseball, could you play the game?

The father stared at his son. He wanted him to figure this one out on his own. The boy was thinking hard.

Oh, I get it. If you had the whole plan of salvation without the birth of the Savior, you would not have any salvation!

Shazam! the father exclaimed.

Just like you need a baseball to play the game, the birth of Jesus is required for the salvation of the world.

So, when you look at the baseball sitting on your shelf, you automatically make connections–you hear the count, you see base hits, stolen bases, and strike outs, and you smell the snack shack.

When you see a nativity scene sitting on the coffee table, you should automatically hear Isaiah’s predictions of the Messiah, you should see Jesus living a sinless life, dying as a sacrifice for the sins of the world, rising from the dead in complete victory, and ascending to the right hand of the throne of God, ruling over the nations until all his enemies are made his footstool.

Christmas is therefore a crucial part of salvation’s story. Without Christmas there would be no salvation. Just like without a baseball there can be no game.

Cool!

No, the father said, it’s better than cool. The Incarnation is part of a perfect, no-hitter, shut-out game. It’s one inning of an absolute blowout. And we get to stand in the 7th inning stretch and sing the Doxology.

~ Curt Bakker, December 18, 2005

(from the archives)

 

I had a hissy fit on Christmas Eve.  In  the candlelight service.  Fortunately, my husband was the only observer and he managed to keep me under control.

We were at our folks’ church, singing from their hymnal, the New and Improved one.  I was already mildly miffed at the alterations in the lyrics when we started singing O Come All Ye Faithful.  When the second verse began “Highest of highest” instead of “God of God” I just stopped singing, now indignant. 

Someone had ruined my favorite verse!  I started jabbing at the hymnal, thumping the spot where in tiny letters were the letters alt.  My husband, who missed my meaning but understood my emotion, shrugged and in a sign of solidarity started poking his finger at the hymnal too, but not in the right places. Which made me snort but didn’t diminish my disgust. 

“Alt!” I hissed. 

“Alt.”  he echoed.  Whatever alt. meant, he was together with me on it. He didn’t ask “Alt?”.  He firmly said Alt. but the required passion was missing; there was no corresponding hiss.

“They ALTERED the text.” I further hissed. “It’s as if Athanasius never lived.”   

“Ahhh.” 

We went back to singing choirs of angels.

At the next carol, he jabbed the alt. before the organ had finished the introduction. Good Christian Men were not rejoicing; Good Christian Friends Rejoice.  In protest, I cheerfully sang “Good Christian men“, all three verses.  I have no patience with gender neutral humankind nonsense.  Please.

With each new carol it became a race between us to see who would thump the alt. first.

We heard the tune of Lo, How a Rose Eer Blooming, without noticing the title was, Lo, How a Rose is Growing. 

This was no alt.: this was a completely new translation. 

I’m sure that Gracia Grindal’s translation has much to recommend it, but you know–you know!– how hard it is to sing or recite a verse in a different translation than the one you memorized as a child, the one firmly lodged in your brain.  There was a sense of disorientation.

Away in the Manger came through unscathed: evidently the Little Lord Jesus (my nephew–decades ago–said Yittle Yord Yesus) could sleep on his bed.  We ended with lovely unaltered carols Silent Night and Joy to the World. 

From God our heavenly Father, Goodbar the angel came.

The shepherds stopped their Snickering, Kit Kats and Doves were tamed.

Big Hunks of earth and Clifs of rock shook loose in Jesus’ name.

Oh, tidings of Almonds and Joy, Almonds and Joy.

Oh, tidings of Almonds and Joy.

100 Grand angelic voices Thundered all around.

Nestlè, the strongest shepherd Crunched his staff upon the ground.

Hershey, his Bar-friend was be-Twixt, Butter-Fingered at the sound.

Oh, tidings of Almonds and Joy, Almonds and Joy.

Oh, tidings of Almonds and Joy.

The shepherds went Nutrageous, they climbed o’er hills and Mounds.

And Fast Breaked up 5^Th Avenue through Bethlehem the town.

A fire Krackeled near the barn, Messiah they had found.

Oh, tidings of Almonds and Joy, Almonds and Joy.

Oh, tidings of Almonds and Joy.

I could not resist posting an excerpt from this witty essay by Umberto Eco from How to Travel with a Salmon & Other Essays. (I separated some of the larger paragraphs for easier reading. The color and bold parts are also my doing. Just helping Umberto out.)  I can’t think why this one resonated with me.

Dear Joan,

Thank you.  Even though I had never met you before, and I don’t expect to see you again, you made my day today.

I am the woman in Costco Optical who was standing in front of cases of frames, forlorn, perplexed, indecisive…inadequate.  Still coming to grips with the transition from contacts to glasses.

And there you were: an older woman wearing black tights, an herringbone skirt and black turtleneck, your elegantly coiffed hair framing a face as beautiful today as it was fifty years ago.  Everything about you reflected exquisite taste.  Your deep-set eyes told me that kindness was spiraled into your DNA. 

“Would you mind giving me your opinion?” I appealed, looking as helpless as I felt.  You smiled your assent and we got straight to work.  Which ones have you tried?…Let’s see that one again…No, that’s too harsh….Oh, I really like those!…Yes, those are very nice.  You voiced your responses freely but not forcefully.

Here’s the thing: you attached yourself to my need, converting it to our project, fully invested in finding the best frames out of all available.  Halfway through the process I gave a wry grin and said, “Hi, I’m Carol.”  You said, “Hi Carol, I’m Joan.”  And we were comrades.  We chatted and laughed.  You didn’t act rushed, impatient or put upon.

When we had reduced the decision to two frames, you took your leave.  It occurred to me later that you really had no business in the optical department.  You were just there! And then you left. 

I hope that my new glasses remind me of you often, that I remember to be thankful for our ten-minute friendship.  I would love to be like you when I grow up.  I can’t aspire to your beauty, but I can be friendly and available.  Today you reminded me of how refreshing it is to be connected.  To be humans together in this fragmented world.

Thank you.

Yours fondly,

Carol

P.S. I ended up choosing the plainer frame.  I know you preferred the ones with pizazz, the sparkles on the corners that matched my coloring.  Someday I will be brave enough for sparkles, but all my life I’ve chosen safe over brave.