Sometimes I forget I love Christmas.  Sometimes I get sidetracked by all the stuff, the impending arrival of relatives, the gifts, the ill-will of certain individuals, even myself.  I forget I love Christmas, because on this day so many, many years ago – I know a God that began to live with me.  I know a God that sent his child, really his own self, to live among men – not as a King with riches to spare, but as an “everyman” brought into this world through an unwed mother, poor, but never abandoned. It took me years to understand the significance of this…When we think of God – maybe we think all-powerful, the ultimate “in-control.”  Surely the God of the Old Testament displayed this imagery both positively and negatively.  (Let us not forget rainbows where a sign of God’s never-ending love after he leveled humanity…an earlier version of flowers as a make-up gift I’m thinking.)   The God of the New Testament is the vision I most closely relate to…This is the God that runs arms out-stretched for his prodigal son – aaaghh, this is my God.  A God that knows no limits - that is always available to me if only I would just turn my face to him, to her.   Long ago, in the dark of night, a couple struggled to bring a child into the world.  Joseph did his best, finding shelter where there seemed to be none.  Mary lay her newborn in the only resting space available to her - a manger where animals surely ate from moments before.  Did she know that this was the beginning?  The child she held in her womb so tenderly, even as those around her must have pointed fingers and whispered?  Did she really believe anyone bought her stories of angels? This was the beginning – confusing, slightly scandalize, but a miracle none the less.  If you believe the story, Jesus the son of God, then you know the miracle.  The Jews of Jesus’ day were on the lookout for a savior who was promised to save them.  Of course they were looking for a King in the guise of maybe someone like the powerful King David.  Isn’t that always what we believe – might and bravado will win out?  Some things never change… But, how does the savior come?  Poor, son of an unwed mother, on the margins of society – the last, almost forgotten among us.  Why did he come from the least among us?  I believe he came this way to know us better, to support each of us more.  Haven’t each of us been marginalized, less-then sometime?  Jesus came to be with us, not above us.   This is my God who came to the world, frail and helpless, dependant on the kindness of others.  He came to be loved and maligned.  He came to heal.  He came bearing the name Emanuel - translated “God with us.” He came to live with us, as I believe he still does everyday in so many different ways.  Reminding me always - I too am a beloved child of God.  May you have a very, merry Christmas.   Peace be with you.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, is addicted to something.  It may not seem so on the surface.  Maybe your addiction is deemed acceptable in this society.  (Or at least legal.)  Did you go shopping today?  How many shoes do you have in your closet?  Do you have to be right?  How much caffeine did you have today?  Did you eat that whole bag of chips and not even notice?  Do you starve yourself to be just right?  Do you take pills to sleep?  For aches?  Anxiety?

Addictions come in all shapes and sizes with the same insatiable hunger at the core—seeking relief, comfort, peace.

Many years ago, an astrologer was looking at my birth chart and asked me, “So, what are you addicted to?”  Horrified, I panicked, and replied, “Not me!”  She smiled and told me to calm down.  She explained something about this planet here, basically, there it was in the stars and then she said, “Kelly, this addiction is how you’ve chosen to cope with your grief.  It can be manifested in almost anything.  It takes away the hurt, the anxiety, if only just for a moment.”

There it was, that word—grief.  The disappointments, the “I’m not enoughs,” and I saw my addiction clearly as I tried over and over to block the relentless tide of grief.  The precarious balance I forced myself into over and over when life was really not working, but somehow, by sheer force of will and of course, my fix, I marched on.  I used the same tired tactics and tricks that no longer served me over and over as the void within expanded. Fueling my addiction again and again which each “fix”, hoping to fill that ever-growing emptiness with something, anything.  Hence the term vicious circle.  A place we all know too well.

Does it end?  I don’t think ever.  I think there is always a hunger within each of us to make the hurt go away right now.  Oh sure, we may be granted a period of reprieve but life has a funny way of teaching—we think we have cast out this vice only to have it show up in another form later.

For some reason, we have bought into this concept that we should only be virtuous and pristine casting out all vice and impurity.  Who are these milk toast people?  What would these pious people look like?  Would they all look the same, think the same, most definitely act the same—doing all the right things every moment and I would detest them.

I rack my brain trying to think of one person who could join these “never make a mistake” ranks and nobody comes to mind.  Oh - good people pop in my head and then I think of the mistake, the lesson they learned from not making the “right” choice, going down the wrong path.  Even Jesus initially rejected a mother asking for healing for her child, calling her a “little dog,” as she was not of the “chosen” people, thus not worthy of his good deeds.  He only relented when she beseeched him repeatedly and he finally saw his own folly (Matthew 15:22-28.)  Not the Jesus we like to think of where all are welcome.  He obviously learned something.

It is in these very places of imperfection, the places we fall down, that we can discover our best self.  Our addictions are only outward symptoms of our inner turmoil, our hidden wounds.  What is your addiction?  Does it fill, numb, or adorn you?  How big does it have to get before you look at the stuffed hurts?

Here’s the key, acceptance.  There will always be so-called triggers.  Instead of seeing these triggers as things to be stamped out, I like to think of them as sign posts of the places I still struggle with.  Usually it is the same old crew of “not enoughs” causing problems, and without fail the sooner I acknowledge the hurt, the sooner it gets better.  It’s when I hide from the wounds with addiction that trouble brews and lingers.

I heard this story somewhere about an old shaman answering the question of, are we good or bad?…Within each of us there are two dogs, good and bad.  Always there, forever.  We decide which dog to feed, everyday.

True peace happens by accepting all sides of your personality, the good and the bad, and discovering balance comes with this integration…So, what are you addicted to?