Christmas

Baby Jesus and Barbie: the Nativity

lpatangan

I always wanted a Barbie Dream House. My best friend had one, and we spent countless hours making Barbie prance around the plastic mansion, flitting from one perfectly appointed room into the next.  Barbie’s life was glamorous and posh, and the makers at Mattel made sure she wanted for nothing. When I begged for my parents to buy me a Dream House, they lamely suggested I make my own, as if I were some sort of Christmas elf who could magically build a two-story manor with its own elevator and swimming pool. Besides, even if I had the skills and resources to do miniature carpentry with leftover cardboard boxes, I didn’t want to be a working elf. I was Barbie’s protégé. I wanted life to be petal pink and easy.

It turns out that life isn’t pink and easy for most of us. It’s messy, more like the stable in which the Savior of mankind was born. We may not be sleeping in beds of straw, yet life can be just as uncomfortable as we try to navigate a world that has become increasingly callous and desensitized to the needs of others. While not surrounded by the hot, sticky breath of farm animals, the familiarity of constant demands breathing down our necks leaves us exhausted and empty. We may not be as materially impoverished as Jesus at his birth, yet the spiritual poverty of a world that focuses on getting more, doing more, owning and achieving more has left many of us longing for a sense of peace and purpose.

During the holidays, we are surrounded by abundance. Still, it’s easy to feel a scarcity underneath all of the glitter and getting. Did we buy enough? Did we get something for everyone on our list? Will we have time to make cookies? Are the three themed Christmas trees in our home clever enough to make little Johnny’s childhood perfect so he doesn’t end up in therapy? There are countless ways to feel like we won’t have enough time, money, or sanity to get through the demands of this extravagant season. Paradoxically, the humility of the Nativity scenes displayed in our homes, yards, and churches is a reminder that the birth of Jesus gave us everything we will ever need.

Christmas is not meaningful for the lavish indulgence of materialism that retailers commercialize, but for the humility of recognizing our need for a Savior. Jesus came to live among us. God becoming man to save us from sin is a transformative and pivotal moment for humanity. In the simplicity of the Nativity, there is a great deal being said. God dwells among us. Awe and astonishment aren’t under our Christmas trees but lying peacefully on top of a bed of hay.  Even well-meaning themes of generosity, family, and tradition pale in comparison to the importance of the incarnation. The Nativity scene offers a reprieve from excess and busyness. It’s a reminder that we can experience the nearness of Jesus by creating a manger for him in our own hearts — a space of inexhaustible joy, hope that will not disappoint, and a source of consolation for the sorrows of this world. Read more →

Give the Hope of Unrelenting Love

lpatangan

Growing up in Florida I never had occasion to ice skate, but like many kids in my genre of coolness, I often went to the skating rink. I couldn’t skate backward or couples skate (well, maybe I could have but no one asked me to). Still, I loved skating under the disco lights to the music of bands like Queen, The Bee Gees, and Gloria Gaynor.  It made me feel as if I was going places even if it was only in an endless circle.

Decades later, I sometimes still feel like I’m going in an endless circle. Only it doesn’t feel as cool anymore.

This feels especially true in parenting. Loops and loops around the carpool lane; circular conversations that make my head spin; and the ongoing dream-killing of telling my precious children no.

No, and no, and H-E-double hockey sticks no. Circle and repeat. Sometimes I would go to bed feeling dizzy and drained and very much unlike Gloria Gaynor whose anthem “I Will Survive” obviously doesn’t apply to parents of teenagers. It was about as much fun as tripping on my roller skate shoelaces and falling on the seat of my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans knowing that I would be sitting out the couple’s slow skate yet again.

I had not skated in decades until one Christmas several years ago. We took our kids overseas for their first time; landing in London early Christmas day. We attended a beautiful mass that morning at Westminster Cathedral and roamed the city’s cold and quiet streets all afternoon. That evening we went to an open-air Christmas Market in Hyde Park. They had giant paper mâché art, games, rides, roasted chestnuts, yummy-smelling confections, and vendors who sold fake Burberry scarves. It was magical.

They also had ice skating.

I was surprised when my son agreed to ice skate with me. My son, who so often seemed distant, so annoyed with my attempts to cajole conversation, and so frustratingly far away from the easy carefree boy I once knew so well, said he would skate. I could end the story here because I feel certain his willingness to skate with his mama was a Christmas miracle. Read more →

Hope: It Means so Much More

lpatangan

When I was little, I thought the best gifts came in big boxes. If they were both taller and wider than me then I knew with certainty there was a great gift inside. Once I discovered shiny trinkets, I felt quite the opposite. It was tiny boxes that magnified the glimmer of something costly and precious that I most coveted.  Nowadays, I just buy my own gifts and I am not very particular about the shape or size of the box. I give them to my husband to wrap so he has an inkling of what he bought me, giving him special instructions to put any clothes in a gift bag in case I happen to need to wear them before Christmas.

I don’t pretend that any of this is romantic or that the Three Wise Men would be impressed with my self-giving. It just seems like a practical solution to the pressures of gift-giving. And, there’s so much pressure. So much of gift-giving feels transactional. Christmas lists have been replaced with links that specify everything from size to color. We ask people what they want so they won’t be disappointed or so we don’t waste money on something that would otherwise end up in the top shelf of the hall closet. Just as often, we give money as a gift because we’ve been conditioned that it’s the one-size-fits-all solution to the woes of the world.

We look to material things to convey the genuineness of our love and affection, and inevitably they feel inadequate. Perhaps that’s what the Grinch realized when he said, “Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas…means a little bit more.”  Yet it isn’t a little green man that I think about at Christmas no matter how wonderful it is that he converted from greed and grumpiness. It’s a baby in the manger. Read more →

Ugly Tree, Happy Memory: Birth of Redemption

lpatangan
Hi all ~
If you’ve experienced suffering (and who hasn’t) then maybe you already know how God can transform it into something beautiful. It took me a while to figure this out but now it shines bright like 1,000 twinkling lights on a puny tree in things that I know — really know.
May you know it too. And, rejoice!
Merry Christmas! ~ Love, Lara
In high school, I remember driving to the Christmas tree lot with my mom. It was close to Christmas so by the time we arrived the only trees left looked like they belonged on the Island of Misfit Toys — assuming the island’s castoffs were conifers instead of spotted stuffed elephants, a wannabe dentist elf named Hermey, and a choo-choo train with square wheels. These trees were lopsided and skinny with dehydrated needles that fell off if you brushed against them.  Even in the dark with the blurring glare coming from street traffic and the strings of lights snaking their way from the mouths of fluorescent orange extension cords, you could tell the trees were ugly.

So, of course, my mom bought one.

And, I know Charlie Brown’s sparse Christmas tree with a single red bulb ornament evokes a certain sort of nostalgia that reminds us of the true meaning of Christmas. But I was a teenager. I hadn’t lived long enough to acknowledge there is beauty in the broken. I still saw the world as two-dimensional. Black and white. Good or evil. Generous or selfish. Happy or sad. All of the color that exists between things just felt chaotic and confusing.

I had yet to reconcile how Jesus could be born a King in the midst of smelly farm animals or why he would love a bunch of sinners or give us free will to decide whether to love him back or why he would choose forgiveness over justice.  Basically, I didn’t understand redemption, neither the ugly Christmas trees nor my own.

Over the years, I’ve experienced the way our sufferings — those unwelcome feelings of loneliness, loss, rejection, and disappointment can be transformed into something beautiful. I’ve seen how we become strong in our weakness; compassionate in our sorrow; and how hard times soften us. All of life’s brokenness that we don’t want, don’t deserve, and didn’t ask for, has a way of making us more whole when we let God’s love and mercy transform our suffering. We celebrate Jesus’s birth at Christmas and it is new and shiny and hopeful. But he didn’t come here to be shiny. He came to save. The reason we celebrate his life is that ultimately, he redeems ours with his death.

That’s heavy stuff to ponder when we can easily focus on stacks of presents, twinkling lights, or perfectly decorated Christmas trees.  But I tell you it’s the best part of Christmas – this realization that redemption is continuously available to us. This knowing that with God there’s a place for misfits and that no matter what we’ve done or how far we’ve strayed, God isn’t going to isolate us on some snowy island. He’s going to embrace us with the warmth of his love. Transformation that adds color and dimension to the pieces of our hearts which have become flat and jaded is possible. This is the redemption that is born on Christmas Day and that is available to us throughout the year.

This is the redemption that I couldn’t recognize as a teenager but that I see all these years later when I think of my mom as a single parent taking me to pick out a tree. On the car ride home, we laughed about the mostly dead evergreen we just bought. We decorated it and with its gaping holes and spindly leaves, it stood as a lopsided witness to that year’s Christmas.  All these years later it still stands in my memory – an ugly tree; a happy memory.  In between, the birth of redemption.

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Don’t Stop Believing: The Magic of Christmas

lpatangan

This is an excerpt from my book, Simple Mercies, that I wanted to share in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe’s Feast Day this past Sunday.

During one Christmas season, I was reminded of the power of prayer when I became one of the prayer warriors trying to get a forty-nine-year-old man named Joe out of prison. I know that doesn’t conjure the same feelings of drinking hot cocoa in footed pajamas by the fire like your typical Christmas story does. Still, it’s a powerful reminder of what can happen when we believe – not only in God but in one another.

As one of six boys, Joe grew up next door to my friend, Cecy. Despite having three young kids at home, she worked for years trying to get her childhood friend out of prison. Joe had been arrested for buying cocaine for personal use and was charged and sentenced as a trafficker. His punishment was twenty years with no chance of parole. He had already served thirteen.

Joe had made appeals all the way to the Florida Supreme Court — each one denied. The only hope he had was clemency from the governor to commute his sentence. That’s when the ordinary became extraordinary. Joe was finally granted a clemency hearing. Sadly, his mom passed away less than a month before his hearing. Joe learned of her death from a prison guard and was unable to attend her funeral. The tragedy of it hardly made me think of the word, believe. Yet when his hearing was finally held, I was visiting New York City where over the Macy’s store on 34th Street, a huge sign in brilliant white lights said only one word: Believe. While I wasn’t sure whether I believed our prayers would be answered in the way that we wanted, I was inspired by the people who believed Joe deserved another chance and did something about it. I had faith that no matter what, God would use the situation for good. I had already seen how many people it had united in prayer and I felt the shared hope that a miracle was possible. I very much wanted to believe. Read more →

The Best Gift to Get

lpatangan

While most people fret over not knowing what to buy someone for Christmas, I have a different sort of problem. I love what I buy for others so much, I inevitably want to keep it.

I recognize that my propensity to want to hoard other people’s Christmas presents makes me like Dr. Seuss’s mean-spirited character, the Grinch. In fact, I’m afraid if I took one of those mail-in DNA tests, I might discover that my ancestry doesn’t descend from royalty like one hopes but from a tribe of hairy, pot-bellied, avocado-colored men whose hearts are two sizes too small.

Besides worrying about this fundamental flaw in my genetics, it’s a terrible nuisance to realize you still have more Christmas shopping to do because you kept many of the things you bought for others. My husband, who is a gifted enabler, lovingly wraps the gifts I hoard and puts them under the tree for me. I think it’s a relief for him because he doesn’t have to work as hard at trying to figure out what to give me for Christmas. So, maybe on some level what I’m doing is altruistic.

I know this behavior hardly conjures scenes from the nativity. I suppose I wouldn’t have made a very good wise woman anyhow. I would meet sweet baby Jesus with the gold I bought for him forged into a stylish bracelet around my wrist while explaining to him that his gift would arrive on the next camel.

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Under the Tree: Overrated

lpatangan

It was Christmas Eve and I couldn’t wait for Santa to come.  I am not even sure I believed in Santa at this point in my childhood, but I believed in presents and that was good enough.  I had trouble sleeping, and hearing the rustle of last-minute gift-wrapping upstairs only heightened my anticipation.  During the weeks leading up to Christmas, I prowled the attic, my mom’s closet, and any other place I could think to snoop. The idea of being surprised was overrated.  Practically speaking, I could just as easily be surprised by looking inside a plastic bag while standing barefoot on the attic’s plywood floor.  I felt certain that I had watched enough television to feign astonishment on Christmas morning.  I even fantasized about my Emmy-award winning performance.  It would be as bright and colorful as the lights on the tree that would spotlight me.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for during all that prowling but that’s part of the journey of discovery, right? It’s the thrill of seeking, of what could be, — maybe even of finding something better than we imagined. In my case, what I found didn’t compare to the curated wares hawked in the Spiegel catalog I carefully perused as a pastime. There was a Tootsie Roll piggy bank filled with chewy chocolate jerky.  Meh.  Fun socks — as if those two words could possibly go together.  Toys that were obviously for my brother.  I certainly had no use for G.I. Joe.  He was too short to use as a suitable partner for Barbie.  Then there were a few miscellaneous clothes that I hoped were for my sister because they weren’t quite cute enough for me.

I wanted a fur coat like the one I lovingly pet in the department store inspiring a lecture from my mom on animal cruelty.  What seemed crueler was her begrudging me this accessory that I was certain would make me look as glamorous as Sue Ellen on the Friday-night soap-opera, Dallas.  (If they didn’t want children to watch such smut, they should not have run it after an episode of The Dukes of Hazzard).  I would have settled for a rabbit’s foot keychain like some of the other girls at my school had.  They were supposed to bring good luck.  Who wouldn’t carry around two inches of a dead animal foot in exchange for a little luck?

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Missing spirit; Christmas found

lpatangan

Like many parents, I introduced the Elf on the Shelf to my family years ago.  Every year, he flew in on December first and brought treats to my boys.  Sometimes he did silly things and sometimes he was too tired to bother and would just perch himself on a nearby object trying to look peppy.  I envied him because, even in his stillness, he brought joy.  Meanwhile, spinning like a rogue top from the Island of Misfit Toys, I was doing everything possible to make each moment merry.  Yet, no one thought I was cute or clever or fun.  Still, moving the elf each night made me feel purposeful about making the season joyful.

This year, the elf is laying face down in my dresser drawer between my camisoles and fuzzy socks.

Like the tape when I sit down to wrap presents, my Christmas spirit is lost.  Besides the missing elf, I have maintained the same traditions, attended the same parties, and surrounded myself with the same fa-la-la-la-la that suddenly feels more flat than festive.  It bothers me because I know the reason for the season.  I have even been mindful about spending more time with God, doing something every day to reflect on the joy of our savior.  I figured eventually the Christmas spirit would find me.  I would even pull that abandoned elf out of my drawer and spin an elaborate story for my teenage boys, explaining how the elf had been injured in a sledding accident and could no longer fly to the North Pole every night.  As such, he became a truck driver who sleeps in highway rest stations leaving treats for weary travelers.  My kids would roll their eyes.  I would roll out the Christmas cheer, and all would be right with the world.

Yet, each day felt like the one before.   Busy, but no genuine excitement for all the bustling.

Then I realized that maybe things don’t need to feel different.  After all, we are encouraged to keep Christmas in our hearts year-round.  More than anything, what embodies that for me are the people in my life.  They are my gifts.  Despite all the minutia that fills my day, they fill me with gratitude, laughter, and hope. It’s the simple moments of mercy they offer through kind words, concern, and unconditional love that keeps the contentment of a newborn king in my heart.  Their presence is a preeminent present I unwrap on ordinary days, moments that don’t typically have the pomp of the season that shines.  Yet they light my way with a steady glow that glimmers with the love of a baby born with a singular purpose, to save.

The Christmas spirit isn’t going to be found under the tree or from my semi-truck driving elf.   It is going to be where it has always been, in the light and love of my neighbor.  May you realize the power of your own light, because when the glittery garland is put away the world will still need your shine.

Hi all,

The frenzy of the holiday season is in full gear and while I have been overwhelmed with to-do lists and to buy-lists and to-bring-me-closer-to-Jesus lists, it occurs to me that as scattered as I feel and as hectic as it all seems – how absolutely beautiful it is that we all stretch and strive so hard to celebrate the birth of Christ. And, I know all of the items on the to-do and to-buy lists are unnecessary and I know the meaning of the season is grossly commercialized.

Still, what a season of evangelization it is for all of us. To know and celebrate the joy of a newborn King and to want to share the joy with others is truly the most beautiful gift we have and the most beautiful gift we can share. So, do all of the things you think you need to do, and do all of the things you want to do, just through it all, try to remember HIS joy. It makes everything worthwhile. ~ love, Lara and her truck-driving elf

P.S. – Signed copies of Simple Mercies are still available for purchase for $15 each if you buy two or more and are local. Shipped copies are $20.  Please email me if you are interested at lpatangan@gmail.com

 

 

Advent, Pink, and Happy News!

lpatangan

I was picking up throw pillows off my living room floor last week.  (I don’t have toddlers but I have teenagers and there is a multitude of similarities). Anyway, I turned around from my pillow-pick-up and looked out the window to see a pink sky.  To my surprise, there was a rose-colored glow on everything: the grass, trees, pavers – all of it.  Pink.    It was beautiful and eerie and made me feel as if the world had stopped and Jesus had come. Not long after that, the pink had faded into gray and torrential rain followed.  Still, I kept thinking about the way the sky’s color palette changed from ordinary to awesome in what seemed like an instant.  It reminded me of our faith journey.

Sometimes in our faith walk, it feels like we travel alone. Others may know our troubles but they don’t understand every notch and groove of the crosses we carry, nor do we theirs.  As such, it is important to always practice compassion and take comfort in the mercy we are offered along the way.  Our walks look different.  Sometimes it’s the longing for a child, the reconciliation of a marriage, a better job, the healing of a loved one, unbearable grief, or addiction.  Regardless of what it looks like, it requires the perseverance of faith.

For years, I wanted to publish a book about mercy.  I wanted to write the book I needed to read but could not find.  I pursued it. I experienced painful rejections, the almost but not quite, the close doesn’t count, and the dogged doubt that told me to quit.  For some time now, that has been a part of my faith walk.  Alone, in the dark, unsure, but trying to trust, I practiced patience and surrender, and above all, mercy. I persevered.  Without mercy, I never could have kept going.  It told me that it was okay to try.  It taught me to love myself, not what others thought of me or my work.  It reminded me that something far greater than earthy desires await.  So, I trudged on, trusting that I would know when it was time to quit.  I waited, sometimes even hoped, to get that message to move on.  Yet, through Gods strength, I always managed another day.

Then, on an ordinary Wednesday, a publisher offered me a book deal.  Just like that.

The walk that for so long felt cumbersome, lonely, and uncertain was over.  The longing was no more.  The wait ended.  The sound ceased to be an echo.  The darkness receded.  I had my pink sky.  There aren’t really words to describe what this meant to me, all the countless ways that I looked back and saw how God had intricately thread the tapestry of my journey. Every stitch was intentional. Every time I held on by a thread, he held me up.  I could finally see his pattern that once seemed so haphazard.  I think of all the people he sent at just the right time to keep me going, to encourage, to embody hope, and I am overwhelmed by the goodness of it all.  Yet more than anything what strikes me is how in one instant everything can change.  We walk in faith.  We trudge along.  We believe. We doubt.  We fall down.  We get up. Sometimes it’s awful.  Sometimes it’s hopeful.  And then, in the instant of his perfect timing, one walk ends and another begins.  It’s like Christmas day on an ordinary Wednesday.

During the third week of Advent, we celebrate Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete is the Latin word for rejoice. While Advent is a penitential season of expectant waiting and preparation for the coming of Christmas and the second coming of Christ, on Gaudete Sunday, we celebrate the joy of God’s redemption.  With only a week of Advent to go, we pause and rejoice all that awaits. “Rejoice in the Lord, always; again I will say, Rejoice.  Let all men know your forbearance.  The Lord is at hand,” (Philippians 4:4-5).  As such, we switch from lighting purple candles on our advent wreath to lighting pink.

Pink is the color of joy.  It is the fulfillment of the promise of our faith.  Sometimes it’s the color of the sky reminding us of the miracles in nature.  Sometimes it’s the color of our cheeks when we are flush with joy.  Sometimes it’s the color we have longed to see for far too long.  The color that shows up one day as the embodiment of a dream.  Right now, it is my favorite color of all.

May it be yours too.

This is me signing the book contract! I know I should have dressed for the occasion or at least gotten out of my pajamas. But, seriously, I didn’t care what I looked like, I was too happy! I felt like Tim Tebow must have during one of his many signing ceremonies (only not as good looking, and with a needy dog on my lap, and readers in my hair, and coffee instead of champagne, and morning dishes surrounding me, and my husband as my paparazzi). Still, it was messy, wonderful, and perfectly pink.

FOMO and the Season of Advent

lpatangan

Just days ago, I spent the day giving thanks.  It wasn’t a restful day, but it was full of food, family, and a dance party with my nieces where I got to be the star Rockette.

Then, in a flick of a leg, it ended — the spirited kicks, the gratitude, and that content feeling that I had everything I need.  I know that’s not why they call it Black Friday but it seems apt that all the products they try to sell can make us feel as dark and empty as a turkey with no stuffing.

How strange it is to go from counted blessings to conspicuous consumption in just a day.  Stranger still, that it’s done in the name of Christ.  After all, he never owned much during his time on earth.  Jesus was concerned with miracles, not the material.  He shared compassion not coupons.  He wasn’t about making the deal.  He was the real deal.  That’s why we celebrate the gift of his birth.

But popping out of a day of thanks like a rogue jack-in-the-box, we are bombarded with glossy ads, lowest prices of the season, rebates, cyber sales, steals and deals, and all the promising thrills the hustle and bustle buys.

It’s exhausting and expensive and it’s what I do.  The season of Advent hasn’t even started and I already feel more harried than merry.  Even when I am not looking for anything in particular to buy, I am afraid not to look, because what if I miss out on something? As such, I have diagnosed myself with FOMO (fear of missing out).  I’m thinking this is a legitimate diagnosis since there is an acronym for it.

As it goes, I fear that if I don’t click on the link or the email or the buy button, then I am going to miss out on some “deal of a lifetime.”  My life will spiral out of control if I spend two more measly dollars than necessary to buy something.  My children won’t go to college. We will be financially ruined.  The Elf on the Shelf will mock me.  My nieces will find another star Rockette. Read more →