"UN"

I've been thinking about this bit I wrote in July of 1997.  I was 30 then, more certain of myself and my decisions than I am now (which could be frightening to those who know me in my present form).  Still, I knew I had my limits, and I was trying to work through those and find some sort of peace in the midst of it all.  I came to a fairly neat conclusion back then, but God's been bringing it to mind in these last three weeks or so -- the weeks leading to Christmas -- pulling things together and teaching me new things (Yes, fifteen years; okay, so I'm a slow learner!).  It's a bit of a winding road, but I'd like to see if you see what I see...


     I am sitting on my unmade bed, staring at the piles of clean laundry on my bedroom floor, on my chair, (which is why I am sitting on my bed), on the table, and on the laundry basket, (full of paperwork, not laundry) and I stifle a sigh.
    I glance at the laundry basket which is full of unpaid bills, unfiled papers and unread magazines.  In my mind's eyes, I roam through the house and take note of the unwashed dishes, unmopped floors, untidy bathroom and unvacuumed carpets.  Did I mention the kids' playroom is an unbelievable mess?  I think "un" is my personal prefix.
     It wasn't always this way.  My roommates in college got very tired of my tirades against their unwashed dishes, their sloppy bathroom, their inability to load the dishwasher properly (sad to say, true story).  My husband never even considered he might be marrying a girl who was unable to conquer the dirty clothes pile.  So, even after I was first married, I worked hard to maintain a clean, attractive atmosphere.  Then, slowly, I began to lose the battle.  What vanquished me?  One word: children.
     ...So here I am, on my unmade bed, surrounded by piles of clean laundry (at least it is clean).  And what a relief it is to remember that my girls and I sang together today.  We read stories.  We held hands.  We talked of how much God loves us and how he takes such good care of us.  We did a few practical things together too -- just to remember that they are a part of life as well.  Later, we'll go to school for a special program, and the dishes will probably still be unwashed and the furniture undusted.  But we'll be just fine.  As Chuck Swindoll says, ""Not many really creative people -- in the process of creating -- keep everything meat, picked up and in its place" (Stress Fractures, p. 161).  And I'm not trying to create an interior decorator's showplace, but a home, filled with happy, healthy children.  When they are grown up and have left home, then the laundry and I are gonna have it out.


I still do not like unfinished anything.  I hate clutter, loose ends and unresolved issues.  I live here however, in the unfinishedness.  It makes me feel...discombobulated.


What's this got to do with Christmas?


"All these people were still living by faith when they died.  They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance...These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised."  Hebrews 11:13, 39


Not your typical Christmas passage, I know, but these are the reminders of people for whom the Messiah was unknown.  They lived in the "un" part of "unfulfilled" when it came to the Promise.  Abel, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Rahab...  These people -- real people who laughed and got hungry and lost their tempers and grew weary -- they lived in the unfinishedness of waiting.  They watched, they worked and they waited, always looking ahead, trusting God for his Word.


Here's the thing, Christmas takes the "un" off of unfulfilled for each one of them.    In a world where God was unapproachable and unaccessible, Jesus comes in the form of a precious baby and becomes the most tangible form of a promise kept, ever.  Then He completely closes the book on it and wipes the "un" off of "unfinished" at Calvary.  Bam.  Promise kept.


And yet...


There is still a sense of something being unfinished...because it is.


"They were longing for a better country - a heavenly one.  Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God for he has prepared a city for them... Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably, with reverence and awe..."  Hebrews 11: 16, 12:28


Christmas eliminates the "un" from unfulfilled, Easter obliterates the "un" from unfinished, and Heaven abolishes the prefix "un".


This Christmas, I'm going to remember how Bethlehem and Calvary finished the Promise, and I'm going to look for heaven and the moment when there is nothing left undone.


Whether or not my laundry ever gets folded and put away is something else entirely.

Salmagundi

The Google dictionary declares the following for the definition of salmagundi:
salmagundi:  

                      1.  A dish of chopped meat, anchovies, eggs, onions and seasoning.

                      2.  A general mixture; a miscellaneous collection.

The ever-necessary Wikipedia tells me that the French word salmagondis means a hodgepodge or mix of widely disparate things.

Tada!  The mission of this blog.  

No, not to spread the joys of a recipe calling for flesh, fish and ova, which sounds absolutely like nothing I would ever intentionally put into my mouth, but instead a hodgepodge of mixed-up and widely disparate things to read, ponder, dispute and digest. (Really, it's NOT a recipe.) 

Example:  The day before yesterday, I experienced the following:  a funeral for the unexpected death of a friend's dear mother, the loss of my keys precipitating a 30-minute search to find said keys in order to get to the funeral, a mini-tantrum as a result of the search for aforementioned keys, a lesson for my almost-teenager on memorial service etiquette (with no mention of parental tantrum etiquette), class preparation for teaching a dozen homeschool middle school students the fine art of crafting a thesis statement, diagramming sentences and understanding O. Henry's The Gift of the Magi, grading of  last week's homework for the English class, preparation for dinner, a Bible study class, and development of a lesson plan for a co-op American history class happening the next day at my home.

These are just the highlights.

There is no mention of what I was thinking about during my tantrum, the grading, the funeral or the Bible study.  Not one word tells you about my five daughters who keep me hopping with home schooling, questions, hormones and the occasional Jonas dance party. No words written are about my husband (I'm still trying to think up some "cute" abbreviation for him.  That's a requirement, right?  The abbreviation for the husband?) There is nothing written about who I am, how I got where I am or where I am looking to go.

But there will be.

Ask anyone who knows me.

I always have something to say about...everything.

That's what An Order of Salmagundi is all about.  The hodgepodge that makes up life and sharing what that looks like.  And I'm not going to be the only one sharing.  Another with a different voice will be sharing her mixed up stuff too.

Because, really, it is about sharing.  It's about offering you a glimpse into the mixed up stuff that we live and inviting you to be a part of it.  Inviting you to hear and think and share and do too.  

Offering and inviting.  To share in our order of salmagundi life.

Soup's on!