A Gentle alarm bell

 A friend of mine is a life coach. She's got a lot of wisdom and joy to share, and early this fall she suggested I pause a few times a day to give thanks. "Don't just rhyme off a list of things you know you should be thankful for," she added, "take time to be still and listen to your feelings. What are you feeling thankful for? Soak in that for a minute. You can feel many things in a short time, but you can only feel one thing at a time. So put your other feelings on pause and just soak up all the good ones while you're giving thanks."

So I set an alarm on my phone.  I made it different from my typical alarm - I chose a soft instrumental instead of an urgent ring, because I wanted it to prompt me into a good place, no matter how frazzled or rushed or discontent I might be feeling.

It's been a solid exercise.

I think I'm generally a pretty reactive person, but twice a day this prompts me to act, instead of react - to choose what to focus on, to celebrate or evaluate. And to give thanks.

When the kids hear the gratitude alarm, they never want me to turn it off. It plays for ten minutes and they all kind of hum along to it while they draw or build with lego or whatever they're doing. 

It's a really nice song, of course, but I think what they're getting is the feeling of it. The respite. The stillness. The joy.

And at Christmas (as with any other time) I tend to zoom around with a poorly planned checklist and a million mental to-dos. I remember to buy the kids presents and gift cards for the teachers, set up the tree and put some lights in the windows. I bulk-buy nuts and nacho chips, oranges and potatoes and jalapeno poppers. I pop my change in the Salvation Army kettle and drop some non-perishables off at the food bank

But

Jesus came without any of that stuff. He could have rescued us without coming as a baby, I think. He could have popped into the world, gone to the cross, and died for our sins. He could have. 

He came and dwelt. Holy, beautiful gift: God with us. With us.

So the thing is - 

To celebrate Christmas in the mode of Christmas means taking time to dwell with one another. To be with. And this year with all the Covid restrictions that's extra hard - but also, maybe, not so hard at all.

Maybe when we can't spend our time getting together with our usual jolly crowd, maybe we can take more time to look into the faces at our own table. Ask them some still and personal questions. Take time to hear their answers. Connect more truly and love more slowly - and truly dwell together.  We can cultivate that feeling, choose it, act in ways that nourish it. We can even set an alarm if we need to ;)

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.