Silent Night by Alana Conway at Carols by Candlelight, Melbourne 2013

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Christmas Eve was busy in our household.
We started with a family dinner which included the festive crackers that we would normally have on Christmas Day, as different members of our family were going different ways to be with other family the following day.
We had food to prepare for the big family lunch that we were planning to attend. We had presents to put under the tree.
We had to get Little Miss Chatterbox into bed and asleep, so that we could organise Santa’s visit in peace. Once that happened, we could start putting out the Santa presents for the family.
Before that, however, we chose to indulge in something that has long been a Christmas tradition in my family. We gathered around the TV, with only artificial candles to light the room, and watched the Carols By Candlelight being broadcast from the Sidney Myer Music Bowl in Melbourne.
Carols By Candlelight has become an Australian tradition. Singers and TV celebrities perform Christmas songs for a live audience, who are welcome to sing along, dance, and enjoy the show. There’s a fantastic choir, another choir full of children, and a magnificent orchestra. It really is fabulous viewing.
Of course, there’s a bit of commercial promotion for the companies that sponsor the production. Once you get past that, you can relax and really start to get into the spirit of Christmas.
Last night, watching and singing along was a welcome break in an incredibly busy day and night.
Among the fun, tinsel, and standard carols, there were a few standout performances.
The performance by Alana Conway of “Silent Night” was my favourite. It was simple and beautiful, and absolutely took my breath away.
It also reminded me, in all my hustle and bustle, of the simplicity of the message of Christmas – on a silent night, with nobody “important” taking any notice, Jesus was born to a simple peasant girl. He came as the Messiah to bring life, healing and grace to a world that was broken by sin.
Please don’t be offended by that statement – I do realise that some people might be. I’m not here to push my faith onto you or to insist you believe as I do.  I’m just reflecting on my experiences last night and how they affected me in terms of my attitude and my perspective.

This gentle reminder really changed my perspective and feelings about what I still had to do that night. Every gift I gave was a reminder of the gift that God gave us on that silent night in Bethlehem. Every song I sang along with was a reminder of God’s love and grace. Every message to a friend was a reminder of the blessing they have been to me. Every gift placed under the tree brought anticipation of the response of the recipient. Everything was full of joy, even though I was exhausted.

It doesn’t take much to remind us of the important things in life. I’m so glad of the reminder that was delivered so breathtakingly last night.

I hope the video blesses you the way it blessed me.
I hope for some of the peace, joy and reflection of Christmas to be yours today and always.

Grown Up Christmas List – Silvie Paladino & Anthony Callea 2006

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A beautiful performance of one of my favourite non-carol Christmas songs from Melbourne’s “Carols by Candlelight” – an Australian Christmas tradition, performed at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl in Melbourne, Australia, on Christmas Eve each year.
Watching and singing along is something I look forward to every year. It’s been one of my own Christmas traditions for as long as I can remember.
It’s also a time of year when I remember how particularly blessed I am with family, friends, and pets all a part of the celebrations. I realise a lot of people don’t have those luxuries for all sorts of reasons.
This Christmas as much as any other, I wish for lonely and abused children to know love and kindness. I wish for healing for the broken, forgiveness for the hurting, peace for the anxious, a home for the homeless, a new and peaceful life for the refugee, and for all to know God’s grace and forgiveness.
As the angels sang, “Glory to God in the highest, and to the earth be peace.”
Amen.

Three sleeps!

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As children, we learn to count down to big events such as Christmas, birthdays, holidays or family events in terms of “how many sleeps” until the day in question.
I am still a kid about Christmas and birthdays. I love the worship aspects of Christmas but I also love the tinsel, the lights, the tree, the decorations, the songs, Carols by Candlelight, the giving of gifts and the celebrations with family and friends.

My problem right now is that I have been telling people with great excitement all day that “it’s three sleeps!”… And it’s 1.45am and I can’t sleep. Wide, wide awake. Yippee.

Oh, the irony.

Can we just have Christmas now?

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A wonderful and unusual legacy.

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Today would have been my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary.
Mum has been gone for a while now – she graduated to heaven in July 2012 after dementia took her from us long before that – but it’s still nice to remember and reflect on the life they built together and the legacy they gave to us as their kids.
I’m thankful for the lessons they taught us and the way they demonstrated problem-solving and talking together as a couple. I’m thankful for their love for each other and their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

It’s fair to say that our family is unusual by contemporary standards. My parents remained together and faithful until my mother’s death. My brother, sisters, and I are all still married to our original spouses.  The nucleus of my immediate family has thus far been untouched by separation, divorce, or abuse. What an incredible blessing. What an amazing legacy for my nieces and nephews who are now making their own ways in the world: some studying, some married or preparing to marry, and some now raising their own beautiful children.
I’m thankful for my amazing family and all the ways they have enriched my life. I’m thankful to be able to call every one of them mine.

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December 19, 1953. Hoskins Memorial Presbyterian Church, Lithgow. One of the many things I like about this photo is that my newly-wed parents are flanked by my Aunt Margaret, whom I have always loved dearly, and my grandmother whom I never met. It reminds me that the understanding of family that Mum and Dad gave to us was something their families gave to them. The legacy didn’t just start with my parents – it started with theirs, and theirs before them.  That’s very powerful when you stop to think about it.

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How will you be remembered?

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The first time I remember hearing that someone famous had died was Elvis Presley in 1977.  I was ten, and had already learned to love his music. I watched Elvis movies on TV on Sunday afternoons. I sang along with his songs. I cried when I saw on TV that he had passed away. 

I remember quite vividly the time I was watching TV and the newsreader told me that John Lennon had been shot and killed. Again, I loved his music and the magic of lyrics that touched my soul, even as a thirteen year old. I always was into poetry, lyrical or otherwise.

I remember when Princess Grace of Monaco died in a car crash in 1982. I was shocked, and felt deeply for her family, especially her daughter Stephanie who was in the car with her when it happened. I knew of her as the elegant and sophisticated First Lady of Monaco, but I had also loved her in ‘High Society’ and other movies. 

That same year, a friend of mine was killed while riding his bike to visit his new workplace. He was hit by a drunk driver. He was just a regular guy. He was funny and sweet. He had so much talent and his life as a young adult was just opening up for him. His horizons were bright. He was gone far too suddenly, too soon. 
The grieving among his friends and family was intense. There were no news bulletins, magazine stories or headlines. Social media didn’t even exist. But there was a large church packed full of people who loved him and wished with all our hearts that he hadn’t been taken.

There were things we all wished we had said. Moments that we had allowed to slip by without acknowledgement or appreciation. We would never get another chance. 

This was my first experience of death among my friends. It was followed by several others over the next few years. All of them were young men – healthy, talented, funny guys who were genuinely loved by their family and friends.  Even now, I think of each of them when reminders pop up in conversations, on Facebook, in places we used to know. 

I remember being in the car, on the way to church, when I heard on the radio that Lady Diana, Princess of Wales, had been killed in a car crash in Paris. I was incredibly sad – more so for her sons and her family than anyone else. I watched her funeral on TV. I watched Charles and his boys as they walked slowly in the procession to Westminster Abbey.  The image of the wreath of flowers from William and Harry on her coffin, with a note that simply said, “Mummy”, broke my heart. That was when I really wept. 

It is completely understandable that people get upset when a beloved movie star, singer or other celebrity dies. 
Someone they admire, respect or aspire to be like has passed away. Their unique blend of personality, talent and beauty, be that physical, intellectual or spiritual) has been lost to those who remain behind. 

Last night the news was that Paul Walker, star of various movies, had died as the passenger in a car that hit a pole and burst into flames. The driver, his friend, was also killed. 

There has been a huge outpouring of grief on social media for Paul Walker, but what of his friend?
There were two men who died in that crash. 
Most likely, there were numerous other young men who were injured or killed in car crashes this past weekend alone. They were important, too. They were someone’s sons, brothers, cousins, friends, boyfriends, employees, students, teammates. Surely their lives are just as valuable as the celebrity?

Many families grieve every week for these reasons.

It can happen to anyone.  It can happen to anyone’s family and friends.
Young men in cars are more likely than anyone else to be injured or killed on a weekend.  

Life is so fragile, even though most of us tend to live as though we are invincible. 

In your grieving for those who have achieved fame for their talent or beauty, please think about and acknowledge the others who remain faceless and nameless to most of us.  They are no less important.  Their families also need prayer, support, condolence and encouragement.

It’s really important that we learn to use our grief as a reminder to make sure that our family and friends know we love them and appreciate them. Create positive, lasting memories so that there will always be a legacy of love when someone is gone. The memories and love are invaluable.

Our legacy of memories and love to our family and loved ones is far, far more important than fame. 

Why report writing stresses teachers out.

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We’ve all seen those funny things that teachers post about writing school reports.
Some of them suggest things we’d love to write, but we know we never could… no matter how tempted we might be.

Others are translations of teachers’ comments commonly found in school reports. Here’s an example:

“Murgatroyd is highly social and engages well with his classmates.”
In other words, Murgatroyd doesn’t shut up and distracts the entire class from what they are supposed to be doing.

“Murgatroyd demonstrates strong interest in science, and is very creative in his use of hypothesis and experiment.”  That is, Murgatroyd isn’t scared of bugs or creepy-crawlies, and was brave enough to put a snake in Prissy’s school bag and a venomous spider in the teacher’s desk drawer. He figured they would be upset, but he did it just to see what would happen.

Okay, so we can laugh at those examples.

However, it is really hard to balance the need for both honesty and diplomacy when writing school reports. It’s important to let parents know what their little treasures are doing at school and how they are progressing.   It’s important for our students to know what they are doing right, and how they can further improve their learning.

It’s also really important for parents to understand that writing reports is not an easy job. It adds pressure  because we are so keen to get it right. It adds stress because we are working to an extra deadline while we’re still teaching classes, grading exams, doing yard duty, marking students’ work, and attending meetings.  We go home to our homes and families, where all the regular things parents and spouses do needs to keep happening.  It often means late nights of unpaid overtime, looking at a computer screen until our eyeballs threaten to bleed or we get nauseous because we’re sleep deprived, not eating properly, and surviving on caffeine and sheer determination.

When kids are well-behaved, attentive, cooperative and soak up information like a sponge, their reports are quite easy to write.  The biggest danger is falling into the trap of making things sound like the kid has it made and just has to show up to get those As. It’s easy to praise, encourage and motivate those students.

Don’t let that fool you into assuming that every kid in every class is like that. It’s simply not true.

Writing a report for a student that hates your subject, or one  who doesn’t want to behave, or one who is determined to see just how many times they can be told off, sent out, given detention or how quickly they can make the teacher cry… that is a really hard job. Especially when schools all have guidelines and rules for writing reports that prevent teachers from telling it like it really is.

Sometimes you want to tell parents that their kid is a law unto themselves, and that they won’t take correction or discipline without a fight. Sometimes you want to tell parents that even though their child behaves like an angel, her self-righteousness and conceit make her really hard to have around… especially when she insists on telling the teachers how they should be doing their job, or on trying to do their job for them.  Sometimes you want to tell parents that their child has given them the term, semester or year from  hell, and that both you and the student in question are lucky to have made it through alive.  Sometimes you wish you could let parents know, just in case they haven’t realised, that their child is among the laziest human beings on the planet and he’s not going to make it into rocket science with his attitude and work ethic. 

Having to be diplomatic about those things is a really tough gig.  And there is at least one kid like that in every class.

Parents, for the love of everything educational, if there are things in your child’s report that you don’t like reading… please consider that perhaps your little treasure may not be quite as well-behaved and super-intelligent as you believe.  Please consider that the teacher isn’t making it up, singling out your child, or blaming a student for their own lack of ability or patience.  Please consider that maybe the teacher is saying something you need to know and understand about your child.  Understanding that might make a bigger difference in your parenting and in your child’s life than detentions, notes, consequences and meetings with teachers ever will.

And if you are lucky enough to have a child who brings home reports that glow with praise and encouragement, be very, very thankful.  You can bet their teachers are.

Don’t let the door hit you on your way out…

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My grandfather always used to say that if you throw a stone at a pack of dogs, the one it hits will yelp the loudest.
Of course, we never threw stones at dogs.  Neither of us ever would.

His meaning was that if you say or do something in a general manner that causes a specific and directed reaction from someone else, it’s most likely a guilty conscience in action.

The blog I published yesterday appears to have had exactly that effect.
No names or specifics were mentioned. There was not enough information given to identify anyone.

Yet today, I find myself suddenly – and quite surprisingly – unfriended and blocked in social media by two people who obviously thought I was writing about them.

I’ve lost friends before, and have been quite hurt in the process.
Not this time.

If they have done what I suggested in my blog – regardless of whom it was actually about – then I’m glad they’ve chosen to exit my life.
I don’t need the negativity, the tension, or the feeling that I have to wonder about their sincerity.
They are quite welcome to leave.
I do rather hope, unlike the suggestion of popular idiom, that the door did hit them on the butt on their way out. Hard.
Either way, it’s not going to open again.

High dudgeon at low treatment of a good friend.

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Loyalty has always been important to me; it’s a quality for which I am known.  My friends are enormously important to me.  I am protective of them, keen to encourage them and sure to discuss things calmly before problems elevate to “barrier” status.

That’s why it really frustrates and angers me when I see a friend suffering because someone they have helped and nurtured fails to return any loyalty to them. It’s even worse when another friendship suffers because of the words and actions of that disloyal person.

A friend who I admire immensely is going through that at the moment. She has faced challenges with integrity, and gone through significant personal grief, yet she is still a nurturer, a giver, a carer… a generous soul. When people are in trouble, she helps them.  She thinks about the needs of others and does all she can to meet them. Often, she does this at the expense of her own health and welfare, and many don’t realise how much she invests in others.

Enter a young person who is unhappy in their workplace, feeling as though there is no option and longing for something to change.  My friend took this young adult under her wing, gave them a new job and a new lease on life. Said young adult has “returned the favour” by white-anting her, undermining her both professionally and personally, and causing her more grief than they will ever realise. Relationships have suffered, friendships are strained, workplace tensions are elevated, and everyone involved is suffering… except for the young person who has moved on to new opportunities.

My message is this: when someone tells you “something someone said”, measure what they are saying against what you know of that other person.
Is it consistent with what you know of them? Is it borne out by what you’ve seen them do and how you’ve seen them live?  Is what they are accused of consistent with how they’ve treated you?  If not, then it’s probably not true at all.

If what you have heard bothers you, please just go to the person concerned and ask them what’s going on. Talk with them. Listen to what they have to say.  Use it as an opportunity to communicate, rather than to bottle things up and let it escalate to a point where silence becomes a habit and both of you are left wondering what happened to your friendship.

I know nobody is perfect. We all get things wrong sometimes. We all fail, we all make mistakes, and we all do things without realising that it’s going to hurt someone else.
However, deliberate misrepresentation of those things is cruel and heartless.  It’s impossible for me to understand what drives someone to do that. Is it a “divide and conquer” mentality, that lives in hope of breaking a friendship so that both parties will dislike each other and develop stronger friendships with the person in the middle? Is it jealousy of a strong relationship that someone desires for themselves but doesn’t know how to achieve that?  Does it make someone feel important? Is it a power trip?  I just don’t get it.

Gossip, half-truths and lies are toxic. They kill friendships, they poison happiness, and they leave pain and heartache in their wake. Why anyone chooses that as a lifestyle is beyond me.

I will not allow those things into my life, my friendships, or my relationships.

I will not allow someone who engages in those things to shape my view or understanding of events and people in my life.

I will remain loyal to those who are victims of this kind of behaviour and show no loyalty whatsoever to those who are responsible.

I don’t care if my writing this makes someone uncomfortable. If someone’s conscience is pricked, good!

If someone thinks this is about them… it’s probably not, but perhaps that’s an indication that they need to take a long, hard look at themselves and how they treat their friends.  It’s never too late, and it’s certainly not impossible, to say “I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

If you are someone who people this way, don’t be surprised if I am very cautious about being friends with you. I’ll be pleasant, polite and friendly, but we won’t be friends. I won’t tell you things, and I sure as hell won’t let you tell me things about other people.

My friends matter to me far more than things, events, or experiences.  I will guard my close friendships with more tenacity and stubborn determination than most people have ever seen in me – and that’s saying something.

People have tried and failed to get between me and my besties before, and discovered that it’s an absolute deal-breaker with no chance of a comeback.

That’s what integrity in friendship is.

The friendships that never were.

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I don’t understand why people push good friends away. 

Nobody needs bad friends – that’s a no-brainer.  I’ve had my share of backstabbers, gossips, control freaks and users that I’ve eventually woken up to and had to move on.  It hurts to know that another person doesn’t value you the way you value them, but it hurts more to stay in a friendship like that and let them keep doing it. That just reinforces and affirms their bad behaviour.  It’s asking for more. 
That’s never a good thing.

In the past six weeks, I’ve experienced something different than that. Two people, both of whom have been my friends for quite some time, have chosen to walk away from our friendship.  

Both have stunned me for a number of reasons. I’ve been a good, loyal and encouraging friend when their chips were down. I’ve sat up late listening and talking when they had problems. I’ve invested time, love and energy into our friendships. And both freely admit that it’s nothing I’ve done… they have simply chosen to move on, not spend time with me, and not maintain our friendship.

Since then, I have seen them try to manipulate people and situations for their own benefit, to control others and have them at their bidding, and deceive other mutual friends in one way or another. “Divide and conquer” seems to be the order of the day. They have certainly left a deliberate trail of emotional and social destruction in their wake.

What kind of person does that?

I recognise that they both fall into the “user” category.  I wish I had recognised them for what they are sooner. I wish I could protect the people that they are now attacking instead of me. 

The strange thing is that I am still grieving for those friendships. I miss them.  It hurts to know that neither of those people valued me as a friend the way that I valued them.  It hurts to know that they do not care that I am no longer in their lives.

In one way, I hope karma, or poetic justice, or divine retribution, or whatever you want to call it, bites them hard. It would be good to know they learned their lesson from someone else doing the same thing to them, but it’s hard to imagine that anyone could be better than they are at using and abusing friendships.

In another way, thinking like that makes me sad. I can’t maintain it.  I’d prefer to walk away with my integrity and character intact, understanding that some people only come into our lives for a season and then we both move on.  I’d like to wish them well. I hope they both eventually find happiness, security, love… whatever it is they are looking for.  

My choice is to walk away from people like that and invest my time, energy and love in my real friends.  I am so blessed to have a select few in my life that I can trust to share my life and my love.  Those people will always have the best of all I have to give them. 

Anyone else will just have to be willing to meet me halfway and be willing to accept my caution until I am sure of who and what they are. I’ve learned that much.

 

The Sea.

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Grey clouds loom and the cool breeze bites my face. The ocean whips into white points, hungrily reaching for something to devour.

I dare not let myself go near it today.

Instead, I sit by the old anchor nestled in the first tufts of grass at the top of the beach.

It’s cold and uncaring, impersonal and no company at all, but it does give me some sense of security. I envy its stability. It knows its place. It only needed to be itself to do what it was meant to do.

Some days the sea is gentle, the small waves lapping at my feet as I hug my knees and look into the distance, wishing for something different, longing for things to change.

Cold.

Mischievous.

Tempting.

It seems so much less sinister than it really is.

Some days, I sit on the shore and watch it heave and crash, knowing its force but thankful that it’s not turning me upside down, dumping me mercilessly and leaving me with little but pockets full of sand to show for it.

I’ve been there.  Struggling to breathe – no! to hold my breath, survive, stay afloat. A few seconds to gulp greedily at the air and then I am gone again, losing all sense of direction, being engulfed; the plaything of the waves.  I’ve limped from the sea and collapsed on the shore, wondering how I didn’t see the breaker that overwhelmed me.

It’s odd that the cold doesn’t numb the senses. It sharpens them, heightens the pain, deepens the wounds.

Some of those wounds still haven’t healed.

I feel him before I see him. He’s watching me, knowing where I have come from, and understanding the storm that is threatening.

I remember when he rescued me from the sea. It nearly won. I was almost gone.

Then I was claimed by his strong arms, beautiful hands, lifting me, carrying me, wrapping me in his protective embrace. His warmth radiated into the saddest, loneliest places within me. The softly spoken words of reassurance – he’s got me, nothing to fear, I’m safe now.

He is beside me now, his arm around my back, his strength protecting me from the elements.

He’s got me. Nothing to fear. I’m safe now.

The tide recedes except for the droplet that weaves a solitary path down my cheek as it chases after the sea from whence it came.