Week 1, Day 4: Real

On a cool November evening, I walked up to my friends' house, just a couple of minutes late for dinner because of the rush hour traffic. They had invited a couple of us to share some leftovers, and I was hungry.

As I approached the door, I noticed the beautiful potted flowers sitting on their porch. So beautiful. Too beautiful for this late in the fall. These mums were full and bright, lively oranges and rich magentas. My mums sitting in front of my house all had withered blossoms and wilted leaves.

Are those real? I thought to myself, as I leaned over close enough to see that there was real dirt in the pot. So just before I rang the doorbell, I reached over and rubbed one of the leaves between my fingers. Then I touched one of the blossoms just to be sure. They were silky.  

Artificial flowers, I said under my breath, marveling at how real they looked. I need to remember that.

::

After dinner, we were sitting around drinking decaf coffee and enjoying bowls full of hot apple crisp with vanilla ice cream. The conversation turned to plants, as my friend had a potted succulent waiting to be transplanted. We each talked about our experiences with plants, how watering regularly confounded us, how certain greenery had nearly done us in.

"What did you think of my flowers on the front porch?" my friend asked.

I felt the blood rise to my face. Had she seen me through the window, stooping down to rub the leaves between my fingers?

"Why, did you see me?" I asked, believing myself to be caught.

"What? No," she said. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Before I rang the doorbell, I touched them," I confessed. "They were too beautiful for this time of the year to be real. Did you see me touch them?"

We all laughed. No one had seen me; had I played it cool, my secret touch could have remained just that: secret. 

The real joke was that apparently the real trick to keeping beautiful flowers on the porch all  year round was adjusting for the seasons, and my friend was just a little behind the cold front that had swept over our city just a few days before.

"Next week I'm switching to something for Christmas," she said, as though she was preparing me.

I'll still probably touch the poinsettias next time I stop by. Just to be sure.

::

I've been thinking of that sneaky feel of the front porch flowers this week as we get started with Advent. 

Every time I light the candles (I'm lighting them every day of Advent this year, not just Sundays), I feel like I'm taking a little bit of heaven between my fingers, feeling to see if it's real.

And so far, every time, the answer is "yes."

::

I met Christine Keegan last week with There and Back Again. This week, she is writing about Advent. Visit her here.

You might also enjoy High Calling blogger Suzie Lind's post, The First Candle.

And don't forget to join our writing project by slipping your URL into the link up in this Advent post.

Photo by neoliminal, via Flickr, used with permission under the Creative Commons License.

Week 1, Day 3: Roots

Friends were coming for dinner Sunday to light the first Advent candle, so I decided to make stew - a thick, rich stew full of root vegetables and hearty chunks of beef.

Saturday, I had purchased four long, skinny yams from an Amish farmer with a bowl haircut. His stand at the farmers market had a wooden box filled with yams, though the sign said "sweet potatoes." I was relieved to have found them, yams being one of four items on my list.

So as the beef simmered on the stove, I peeled and sliced the yams directly into the pot. I was surprised by the light colored flesh beneath the dirty peel. All the way in the center of the sweet potato disks was the orange color I had expected. This must be a different variety of yam, I thought to myself, curious about the words "yam" and "sweet potato" and how easily I interchanged them.

Week 1, Day 2: Advent Writing Project

I walked around the party supply store for more than 30 minutes on a November Sunday looking at candles.

I pulled out long, gold taper candles wrapped in cellophane, looking them over for just a few seconds before returning them to the bin. They weren’t what I was looking for. I marched up and down the Christmas aisles filled with ornaments and garlands and plastic chargers for decorating the table.

But again and again I returned to the wedding display studying a box of twelve votive candles in small glass holders for just $9.99. There was something appealing about this deal on votives that I couldn’t shake, but still I didn’t have a vision yet.

I was shopping for Advent candles.

First Sunday of Advent

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of

darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of

this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit

us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come

again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the

dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives

and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and

for ever. Amen.
--from The Book of Common Prayer

There and Back Again: Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving, and where I lack in gratitude the other 364 days of the year, I certainly try to make up for on this day. All morning, I have been thinking about the things I am grateful for.

• I am grateful for Tilly, curled up on the bed with me. She and I have come a long way this year.
• I am grateful for my family. We've survived a lot of ups and downs this year.
• I am grateful for friends who have walked a difficult year with me.
• And speaking of difficult years, I am grateful to have come out on the other side of cancer treatment as a survivor. For the third time.

Forward and Backward

Forward and backward, forward and backward. I pushed the carpet shampooer forward and backward as I cleaned the rugs in my living room and hallway.

With a dog in the house, my mom thought I needed to have my own Bissell hot water cleaner, so she bought it for me as a gift a few years ago. Every couple of months, I load up the machine with soap and water, and give my carpet a once over.

This time, as always, the process resulted in a couple of buckets of muddy brown water which I dumped down the toilet. "I live in squalor," I think to myself every time. I'm amazed by the dirt that sinks deep into my carpet, unnoticeable until it's significant enough to be a real problem.

There and Back Again: Night Things

I was laying in my bed; it was 2 a.m.; I was awake.

About two hours earlier, my one-year-old black Labrador Retriever, Tilly, crawled out from under the covers where she was sleeping with me, and vomited right on top of the quilt. I was initially disgusted, then I was frustrated, then I realized she hadn't thrown up much. And it was the "dog" quilt, afterall -- a bed covering I had once loved, but now used just because it already had stains and chewed holes in it.

Two Gratitudes

Yesterday, my friend Kelly and I attended a live production of It's a Wonderful Life.

With such a classic story from the movie we all watch during the holiday season, I wondered whether a local cast could pull it off. All morning I was doing my best Jimmy Stewart impression, "Mary, Mary!" my gravelly voice spoken through crooked lips.

I mean, really, how could they find a George Bailey even close to the caliber of Jimmy?

There and Back Again: Litany

The very night I finished radiation, I joined a gym. It was on my list, right before, "Get Pizza for Dinner." When I mentioned the pizza to the guy who was registering my gym membership, he said lots of people do that. Go hog wild the night they join a gym.

But it wasn't like that for me. Eating pizza wasn't hog wild. It was just a way to keep living.

Although cancer treatment is no picnic, the days and months following the treatment have been hardest for me in the past. While I am seeing doctors and having blood tests and being radiated every day, I feel like I'm fighting the disease. When it stops, I feel like a sitting duck for cancer to return.

The Gospel of Matthew: God with Us

Friday was my day off.

I had arranged with work to be gone; I had arranged with the cancer center to come early for my radiation appointment; and I had arranged with my family to spend a few hours with them on an annual trip to Nashville, Ind.

I had arranged everything.

Making a Mess of Ministry

As my pastor spoke on Sunday from 1 Timothy 1 about the series of bad decisions that can lead a person away from true Gospel ministry and toward a ministry of self-promotion, I couldn't help but think of this blog.

How easy it would be for me to follow the breadcrumbs of self-deceit to believe that my writing was actually something I should do simply to convince other people how great I am rather than to tell the stories of every day life that reveal the truth of God's redeeming work.

Radiation: Day 23

I walked out of work to head to my 23rd radiation appointment with more pep in my step than usual. For the past several days, the side effects of radiation have increased; nausea makes it harder for me to eat, fatigue makes it harder for me to stay active, intestinal cramping makes it harder for me to be comfortable.

But today, as I leave work, I know that I have only three more treatments. And a three-day weekend to help get me through these final days.