To keep Christmas just a little longer this year, I salvaged some branches from the Christmas tree (yes, they’re pretty dry, but they’ll last a few more weeks in some water) and I added a few seasonal greens, like ivy and Indian paintbrush berries, to adorn our family’s nativity scene. Of course, this is easy to do here in sunny Southern California, but even if you’re suffering through freezing temperatures, you can still leave up the nativity scene as a reminder that Christmas isn’t just one day a year, and the light of Christ’s eternal love warms even the bitterest of times.

Send me your pictures of your nativity scene, and tell me how you keep Christmas long after December 25. I’ll put up your pictures on the blog!

God bless!

Photo by Patrick Simons

Lights and display contest?! Lights and display contest?! Oh no…but nobody’s gone commercial around here.

In fact, this is the best Advent lights display I’ve ever seen. (Actually it’s the only Advent lights display I’ve ever seen.)

It was created by the Simons family of Mission Viejo, California. They’re the hands-down winners of the Always Advent First Annual Lights and Display Contest. A contest I just started yesterday in fact, when I saw this picture from their dad, Patrick Simons, on Facebook. So congratulations, Simons family. Unfortunately, you can’t win money, money, money around here. But you have won the admiration of folks everywhere who want to see Advent remembered the way it should be! Charlie Brown would love it, too!

(Another in our series of guest posts from my friend, the fabulous Stephanie Baker.)

I love Christmas cards.  Over the years our family has created many homemade versions to express our greetings to family and friends.  From a spray-painted snowflake to a professional portrait of us dressed as Dorothy, Tin Man, Scarecrow, and Lion (“There’s no place like home for the holidays!”), our cards have run the gamut.  Nowadays we receive mostly photo cards from family and friends.  Those pictures tell a story so much better than a long-winded Christmas letter!  Every card, note or letter is received in our home with great joy and appreciation.

One of our most memorable Christmas greetings was created the year our youngest child, Will, was born.  December 1988 found me at home with John, age 7, sister Emily, 4, and William, born in early September.  Overwhelmed and exhausted, I was at my wit’s end as to what sort of photo to take of the kids for our card.  Inspiration came at the hands of Emily, who before her brother was born announced in no uncertain terms, “it will be my baby”.  Her motherly instincts inspired me to gather the kids and some make-shift props and costumes.  A bath robe and a blue scarf for John, Emily in her nightgown with a pink shawl draped over her head, the infant seat with a faux sheepskin blanket and baby Willie in a cloth diaper.  Yes, we had the Holy Family posed sweetly in front of our Christmas tree!  All three with their most angelic faces – John steadying the baby seat, Emily’s hands held in prayer, and Willie’s little arms extended in blessing just like the baby Jesus.  It was truly a Christmas miracle!

This Christmas 23 year old Will (no longer Willie) is engaged to be married.  His sister Emily is engaged as well.  Big brother John is Dad to a beautiful baby girl.  Our family is growing at a rapid pace – Thanks be to God!  Dear parents, the years fly by, so capture the moments carefully and share them generously with your loved ones!  Merry Christmas!

 Stephanie Baker is co-author of Kitchen Table Conversations: Preparing at Home for Sunday Eucharist (Twenty-Third   Publications), with co-author  Anna Humaydan.  Stephanie and Anna are former parish DREs with Master Degrees in Pastoral Ministry from Holy Names University. They have presented workshops, in-services, and trainings for the California Dioceses of Stockton, San Jose, Sacramento, Oakland, Santa Rosa, Monterey, the Archdiocese of San Francisco and the Diocese of Dallas, Texas.

“Driving is my lifelong dream,” my teen says. This is no exaggeration from a boy who learned to read by studying the Ford Mustang brochure. A boy who could tell you, at age four, that the 1996 Honda Accord that just passed us had Toyota wheel covers on it. Driving is more than a teen rite of passage for him. It’s a fulfillment of something he’s been awaiting since his first birthday, when his adoring aunt bought him that life-altering book: Richard Scarry’s Cars, Trucks, and Things That Go.

For me it’s a different story. Like most parents, I’m worried about the next few months now that my conquering hero has passed the permit test. But my concern goes a little deeper. Many years ago, my older brother (who my son is named after) was killed in a car crash involving a drunk driver. It’s something I think about almost every time I get behind the wheel. So I’ve known this day was coming, the day my firstborn takes that wheel in his own hands (hands that look strikingly like my brother’s). I’ve prepared for this day, prayed about it, talked with my husband about it, and yes, even gotten some therapy about it. Still the first day he drove to school with his dad wasn’t easy. It helped that we were prepared. I’d accompanied him on practice drives in parking lots and on some quiet neighborhood streets. He’d scored well on all his tests, and after all, he’d been planning for this day for years. So when he and my husband left early yesterday to give themselves plenty of time, I was able to smile and feel genuine happiness for him. I waved good-bye and whispered “God bless,” as my son maneuvered the car out of the garage, for once looking happy about going to school. I watched him back into the driveway, and then he was gone.

Back in the living room, I prayed my usual daily rosary. I expected my husband home in about twenty minutes. But as the clock ticked away, there was no sign of my husband. At 7 am, he was only about ten minutes late. No big deal, right? But several more minutes passed and still he wasn’t home.  They probably took a longer, quieter route, I told myself.  Maybe some detours to avoid the busier intersections. Still more minutes passed. I’d forgotten what rosary mystery I was on. I know it’s not a huge deal, and I kept telling myself it wasn’t. I tried to push the scary pictures out of my mind when suddenly another picture popped into my head, out of nowhere. A man, walking on water, holding his hand out to another man. The other man falters, “Lord, save me.” The man reaches out and catches the struggling one. Suddenly words popped into my head. “Jesus, I trust in you.”

Immediately I heard the garage door open. My husband was home. All was well.

Sure, I know it’s not a huge deal. But it’s small miracles that give us hope and faith. Small, quiet signs are what Advent is all about. We wait for a tiny baby born on a quiet night, with no one but his parents and some shepherds to watch over him. Yet angels sing all around them, and God in heaven smiles down.

Photo by Connie Clark

Okay everybody, let’s all just calm down. So I made a mistake. One, teensy-weensy blooper. You’d think the entire Catholic blogosphere never saw an error before, the way everybody’s talking about my big blunder yesterday. Harping on it. Balking about it. Frankly, the hoopla has been way overdone.

If you’ve been spending your time under a rock these days, you might not know that I accidentally referred to yesterday as the feast of the Annunciation, which is wrong, wrong, wrong. I know perfectly well that it was the feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. But from the resulting brouhaha, you’d think I’d declared that I hated kittens wearing mittens, or that I’d gone and married a vampire and turned into a vampire myself and had a baby vampire who I confusingly married off to my best friend and that we all lived eternally ever after without making one single sacrifice like memorable characters are supposed to do.

Actually I might be exaggerating slightly. About the brouhaha, I mean. The truth is, no one’s called me out. In fact, although this blog had one of its most popular days yesterday (possibly because I trumpeted my own error from the blogging rooftops in a mad effort to head off the public consternation and hand-wringing), no one said anything. No snarky comments, no soapbox fights, no dire predictions about the planet’s imminent collision with Nibiru. Things were pretty quiet, in fact. Dead quiet, actually. Either readers missed my faux pas (highly doubtful), or they’re too polite to call me out. I think it’s the latter. You are kind, peaceable folk who don’t need to show off your holy-day-of-obligation smarts. You’re good people. Friendly people. For that, I thank you, because I’m one of those people who don’t enjoy being the brunt of bluntness. To quote the immortal Michael Scott of The Office, “Do I need to be liked? Absolutely not. I like to be liked. I enjoy being liked. I have to be liked. But it’s not like this compulsive need to be liked, like my need to be praised.”

Not that I need praising, but it really would be nice to hear a few peeps now and then from you. So last night I did some exhaustive scientific research into how to get readers talking. The result of my analysis (which consisted primarily of asking my husband what he thought) is that  I haven’t made any ground rules for you. So here we go. Here are some commenting rules for this blog:

1. Snarkiness and sarcasm are okay, as long as none of it is directed at, well…me.
2. Most any topic is open, except maybe the ending of Breaking Dawn. Also politics. (I have two teenagers, so my blood pressure is high enough already.)
3. And just for this week, if Angels fans want to chew me out because I’m celebrating C.J. Wilson slightly more than Albert Pujols, I’ll probably put you on moderated status. (Seriously though. We needed more help on the mound, didn’t we?)

So those are my simple rules. Pretty easy, right? Or maybe not. Oh heck, I don’t care. Just feel free to say whatever you feel like. No pressure.  Anything you want. As long as it isn’t vulgar or mean. Or about Jacob imprinting on…ew…a certain vampire baby.

God bless!

from Flickr Images. http://www.CGPGrey.com

Actual, real (not made up) conversation:

Mom: I’m going to Target tomorrow. Let me know if you need anything.

Teenager: K.

Ten hours later…

Mom: I’m going to Target in a little while. Do you need anything?

Teenager: Nope.

Four hours later…

Mom:  I’m leaving for Target. Can you think of anything you need?

Teenager:  I’m okay.

Mom: All right, if you think of anything, text me.

Teenager: K.

Two hours later…

Mom: Wow, I’m exhausted. It was a madhouse at Target today.

Teenager: Have you left for Target yet? I really need lip balm…

Actual, real (possibly made up) thoughts about it:

Note: On the ball Catholics will find a glaring error in the post below: See if you can find it!

In my Advent booklet, Gathering in the Light, I reflect a lot on conversations I have with my teenage son, a young man who has spent the last several years of his life not caring a thing about the next several years of his life.

Of course, this is a teenager’s vocation. And it’s a parent’s vocation to deal with it, in whatever way works for our personal sanity. It hit home yesterday as I was editing our family’s Christmas card picture and I cut off my son’s left ear. Not literally of course, but his ear is definitely absent from the photo, something I didn’t work really hard to do, but something I didn’t work very hard to fix, either. That ear, and its accompanying earring, are not one of my son’s proudest features as far as I’m concerned. But they are part of a hard-fought battle I chose to let him win.

Some days it feels he’s winning both the battles and the war, but like most parents of teens, I’m trying to keep things in perspective. To be honest, when I look at my son, I don’t see the earring (and I hope you don’t, either). I hope you can see the young man who held the door open at Mass for an elderly woman after four people walked past her. I hope you see a guy who took time to patiently explain altar serving rules to a group of unruly kids a few evenings ago. I hope you see my son, who still needs to be reminded to turn in his homework, but who will unload the dishwasher without being asked.

Still, though, we have our days when I see him and his brother as those guys on Youtube who are forever putting things like cans of Axe deodorant in a microwave, just to see what will happen. And I see me as the can of Axe.

So today, on the feast of the Annunciation, I think of Mary’s parents. I think about the conversation they had with their teenage daughter who shared the news from the angel about the baby she was going to have. Did Joachim and Anne see a young girl who was pregnant outside of marriage? Or did they see Mary, full of grace, who readily and without hesitation was answering God’s call? Fiat. “May it be done unto me according to your word.” Today I pray for the vision to see my sons the way God sees them, and not just on the good days. I pray for patience, too. Lots and lots of patience.

(And maybe a can of Axe, too, because parenting teens is sweaty work.)

Did you find my big error yet? Hint: It has to do with the holy day of obligation today. And there’s a good reason for my error. But I’ll tell you why tomorrow.

Christmas Mess by eren | thisvintagechica at flickr.com

by Stephanie Baker, guest blogger extraordinaire

(Head blogger’s note: This is the first in our series from parents who show that it really is possible to raise teenagers into successful, happy, well-adjusted, faith-filled, intelligent adults. And yes, our bloggers are real people. I didn’t make any of this up.)

When I was growing up I remember only one household ritual that we kept religiously each year.  It was the Advent wreath.  Each night before having dinner together, my mother, father, brother, and I would recite a simple prayer and light the candle on our tabletop Advent wreath.  The circle of evergreens and the purple and pink candles were beautiful on our dining table.  I was fascinated by the ever-growing light and the ever-shrinking candles as we approached the most exciting night of the year – Christmas Eve.  My husband and I continued this tradition when we were married and looked forward to sharing it with our children one day.  Ahhh, it all sounds so lovely!

The reality when my children were gathered around the table during the month of December was quite different from my childhood memory.  John, my oldest, was very concerned with fairness and making sure he was never on the short end of anything.  He also liked to entertain himself by teasing his sister, Emily, until she screamed like a banshee.  Our youngest, William, never much cared for dinner hour at all, preferring to eat when he happened to be hungry.

So there we were, the five of us, gathered around our Advent candles.  Who would light them?  Who would read the blessing? How could we make this “fair” to everyone?  Could we calm ourselves long enough to pray and give thanks to God?  In all honesty I have to say that we rarely matched my childhood memory.  More than likely someone was crying or screaming or laughing and I’m not just talking about the kids.  We did persevere, however.  Now my adult children have their own memory to reflect upon.  Hopefully, my little granddaughter will one day light the candles and offer a prayer of her own.  Perhaps her father will figure out a way to make it fair to all.

I like to say that I am a recovering perfectionist.  It was my children who cured me of this disease.  The Advent wreath ritual was partially responsible.

Stephanie Baker is co-author of Kitchen Table Conversations: Preparing at Home for Sunday Eucharist (Twenty-Third Publications), with co-author  Anna Humaydan.  Stephanie and Anna are former parish DREs with Master Degrees in Pastoral Ministry from Holy Names University. They have presented workshops, in-services, and trainings for the California Dioceses of Stockton, San Jose, Sacramento, Oakland, Santa Rosa, Monterey, the Archdiocese of San Francisco and the Diocese of Dallas, Texas. 

"Gifted Hero" by JD Hancock, Flicker.com

My kids (a teen and a pre-teen) are not what you’d call crafty. They have no patience with popsicle sticks, duct tape, or glue dots. We no longer discuss the grades they received in art, or the confused looks elicited by their pinewood derby entries (“Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself making this, dear?”). So homemade Christmas presents are not exactly a feature of our Christmas season. On the other hand, my kids, like many young people, are seriously broke this year. Here are some alternative gift ideas we came up with that take advantage of their unique, adolescent um…skills.

1. Make a mix CD, or a personalized playlist for someone. Personally I’d love some work-out music, but I don’t have time to search for songs. So my teenager is making me a playlist this year. He says he’ll include most of my kind of music. Even so, I’ll probably get more Skrillex than Susan Boyle, but I’m keeping an open mind.
2.  Give a technology lesson. Adults are always wisecracking about how their kids know more about technology than we do, so why not tap into their wired brains and get them to teach us something.  Maybe Grandma would like to start a Facebook page. Maybe Dad would like to edit movies or do photo special effects but he just doesn’t have the time to learn how. Maybe Mom wants to learn to play Madden. Spending an hour or four showing some poor, deprived adult is a gift that just keeps on giving, because maybe we’ll stop making the lame jokes about our kids knowing more about technology than we do. And maybe we’ll understand the technology well enough to help our kids make wise decisions for using it.
3. Bake something with your family and then give it to someone who could use some holiday cheer. This is a three-pointer. The first point comes in the time spent with family. The second comes when you give the baked goodies away. The third comes when you don’t expect anything in return.
4. Give a free seminar in something. Whether your teen is a varsity tennis player, a model UN delegate, a bass player who does killer riffs, a ComedySportz star, or just muddling through calculus, he or she can probably teach younger kids something. This idea is (sort of) based on Boy Scout merit badge days where older scouts help younger ones finish their achievements. Plug in to your local parish youth group or religious ed office–there are always kids somewhere who could use help. You might want to group kids with different talents to share, or go informal with an hour or two of free tutoring or sports coaching. Everybody wins with this one. Teenagers can build self-confidence, and younger kids get some positive role models.
5. Put that new driver’s license or permit to good use. Does your teenager need some driving practice? Give him a chance to hone those driving skills and help others by arranging for him to make some gift deliveries, or give someone who needs it a ride to the shopping mall or church. Of course, you’ll need to accompany your son or daughter if they’re still permit holders, but then, you’re giving an important gift, too—your time.
6. Detail someone’s car. Or help them dig it out of the snow. Or change the oil. If your son or daughter is into cars, this could be the perfect gift for an elderly neighbor, or anyone who could use a little extra vehicular activity.
7. Help someone with Christmas decorations. Again, maybe there’s an elderly neighbor, or some new parents who just don’t have the time or energy to make things festive this year.
8. Babysit for free. Sure, most kids earn a little holiday cash for this, but would it kill them to do this as a gift? Maybe you know a single mom who could use some help watching the kids while she works overtime. Or a family who’s going away for the holidays and needs someone to feed the cat.  And the real gift is the reminder that we don’t always have to get a reward just for being kind.
9. Read to someone. Your local library, school, or senior center may have resources, or teens can simply read to a younger sibling or relative.
10.  Make a Mass or prayer card. Maybe your teen knows someone who’s sick, in trouble, or recently experienced a death in the family. Whatever the intention, teens can offer Masses or prayers for friends or family, and record it in a card or online greeting. Because really, isn’t praying for someone the best gift of all?

God bless!

Er, no, Miss Litella. It’s Roman Missal. Catholics have a new translation of their Missal. But it might as well be a missile, considering the comments flying all over the blogosphere. Over at CatholicDigest.com where I sometimes get to voice my confusion about all things Catholic, the comments are really flying.  Some people love it, some hate it, and some well…some people just might have a little too much time on their hands. Anyway, if you want to be a part of the voices and get your two cents in, or if you want to know what other Catholics think, head on over. And the missiles? Never mind.

CatholicDigest.com

God bless!

Or me and my Advent booklet. I’m down to one copy, and according to the publisher’s website, the book is sold out. Now as a freelance writer I rely on my work samples to bring in more work. So I usually treat samples the way a paleontologist cares for a rare dinosaur bone.  But I wanted to actually use the Advent book this year with my family to try it out. So I’ve been leaving my one, solitary copy on the dining room table next to the Advent wreath as a little reminder.

What could possibly go wrong?

Oh let’s see, perhaps this…

Or possibly this…

One of them went spectacularly wrong today. I won’t say who (although I have a pretty good idea) decided my book would make a charming placemat for, ahem, revisiting dinner, if you know what I mean.

Actually it could have been much worse. The craft project landed on one small corner of the book, and I caught it pretty quickly. So you’d never notice anything had happened. But I did complain loudly and uselessly.

But I’m also grateful to them. Yes, to my cats. I know it’s weird, but I get a lot of compliments from some very kind people about my writing. So it’s easy for me to get very impressed by, well, me. But my cats remind me that no matter what I do, it could easily get thrown up on or pooped on (really literally), and that’s more than okay. Because it’s not about me, it never is.

I’m really starting to get what St. Josemaría Escrivá meant when he said, “It is in the most material things of the earth that we must sanctify ourselves, serving God and all mankind.”

I always thought the day-to-day struggles were just ways God tests us. But they’re way more than that. They’re the ways he loves us. Every detail—whether it’s loading the dishwasher, spellchecking a file, sitting in a cubicle next to someone you loathe, changing a diaper, standing in line to recycle plastic bottles so you can make enough money to get by this month–it’s all a prayer. A way to communicate with God.  And the more mundane, ignoble, obscure and difficult the job is, the more we’re imitating the God who took on a lowly human form. There’s the gift. “Heaven and earth will pass away but my words will not pass away,” Jesus says. It’s all part of the plan. The way we get to heaven.

I’d keep going, but it sounds like the cat is creating another gift for me in the other room. Time to do some work.

God bless.