A complicated table

Considering which ones to attend, leave, or flip.

I left Montana last week in the pre-dawn hours when it was 20 degrees out and I could still hear the owl. When the plane dropped down through the grey haze hanging like a welcome banner along the coastline, it was 70 degrees and broad daylight in Southern California. It feels like home, and this year I needed to feel home for Thanksgiving.

Yet, our table will be complicated. I know it’s true for many of us. The reasons might not be exactly the same, but they are complex nonetheless.

This year we cannot afford to water it down; we have room only for whole realities, so let’s look things in the eye. My son will be with his dad, a sometimes-condition of my post-divorce life that always leaves me squirming and a bit sick. My daughter is across the country, not coming home from school until Christmas. I am numb from missing her too much.

People are missing from the table. People who should be there. That’s one problem. The chair count is too low, and we might not run out of forks before dessert is served. It’s okay to be a bit sick there are too many forks going unused.

Then there are the splintered tables, our tender wounds leaving us feeling alienated and bare-skinned. We don’t know if there is a safe chair for us. We aren’t sure we want to sit down and stay. This article will not be a persuasion piece on how to live peaceably with everyone because that is not fully in our control. We may try to be peaceable, and it’s good to try. We may also decide to stop trying, pick up our sweet potato casserole, smile, and walk to the car.

We may have to suffer loving ourselves that much when others cannot.

And then there are tables that ought to be flipped, ones that serve only injustice, greed, and fear. I see these as systems, some religious structures, and ways we used to see things that need subverting. But we can’t flip people; we can only acknowledge stories and try to see one another as beloved; we are all struggling to imagine our own unshakeable goodness. Flip the table if you must, but remember the humans sitting at it are story-worn too.

Our holiday tables will be lined with family members who wear interesting sweaters, make peculiar comments, and cradle gelatin salads. Things might get weird or emotional. Things might get downright violating. This article is, in fact, a persuasive piece on holding heads high and choosing honor, both of others and ourselves. We have permission to decide what that looks like and to examine which imagined rules are keeping us from stepping into greater honor - again, of others and ourselves.

I am committed to believing goodness might spring up among the carbohydrates. But if it doesn’t, I assure you we have what it takes to navigate the debris with a dignity that honors, not elbows, our way through.

In a holiday setting, this is what honoring myself and others looks like for me: sprinkling gentle truths about myself and where I am in my journey, but only with those who are truly curious; dripping genuine encouragement and praise where it’s due; holding gracious space for differing beliefs without compromising my integrity; not needing to have an opinion on every single thing; and protecting my energy so that I have some left to tend to my own soul. It’s a little like the Thanksgiving meal — it’s a mistake to flood your plate with gravy, and you’ll regret it if you overindulge.

Jesus sits at a lot of complicated tables. He also leaves some and flips others. But what I love most is his perseverance; he keeps sitting with the controversial folks and calling out their goodness. He keeps eating the gelatin salad and laughing with Uncle Frank. He generously dishes out honor.

He keeps showing up, knowing our collective brokenness is always obscured by our collective beauty.

He reminds me we are nourished by one another, passing warmth and scooping connection out in heaps, one generation to the next.

And gratitude is found in small morsels.

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make this.

Olive Oil & Maple Granola

Meet my favorite edible gift. This granola is far less sweet than your typical store-bought variety and that’s exactly why I love it. I always make an extra batch for myself. You can package (or store) this delicious concoction in pint-sized mason jars or cellophane bags tied with a bow. Use raw, unsalted seeds in all cases. It’s super simple to make gluten-free if you use GF oats.

Ingredients

1.5 old fashioned, rolled oats

1/2 C pumpkin seeds

1/2 C sunflower seeds

1/2 C unsweetened coconut flakes (usually in the bulk section, not shredded coconut)

1/2 C pecans, chopped

1/3 C maple syrup

1/4 C olive oil

1-2 T honey

1/4 C brown sugar

generous pinch of sea salt

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.

Mix together all ingredients in a large bowl and spread evenly onto an unlined cookie sheet. Place in the oven and set a timer to remember to stir it at each 10-minute interval, roasting for approx. 50 minutes in all. Be sure to stir all the granola each time, particularly at the corners, and re-spread it back into a thin layer. The granola is finished when it is a deep brown color and smells very fragrant and toasty. I love it sprinkled over Greek yogurt and berries. Sadness fills my heart when I run out, so sometimes I double this recipe.

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read this.

Honest Advent by Scott Erickson

I’ve read a lot of advent-style, one-a-day kinds of books, and until I read Honest Advent, they all felt more or less the same. But, last fall, through Scott Erickson’s Instagram page (you might recognize it as @scottthepainter), I was drawn in by the illustrations he was posting from the book. They were of women’s bodies, women in labor, realistic and uncensored in more than one way. Nothing like I’ve ever seen in an advent book. So I bought it.

By the third or fourth day of readings, I realized I was experiencing something unfamiliar. I think it was a dual feeling both of being seen and being inside of the Christmas story myself. As Erickson walks through the pregnancy and birth of Jesus, he reflects on the process of childbearing, the reality of the mess, the agony, the chaos. As a mother, I found myself a nearer witness of Mary and her experience.

Never before had I felt so named and honored by a white, male author than in this book. I tend to read books written by women, as they are less likely to step over the issues that matter most to me. But Honest Advent dignifies women in the Bible in a way that honors all women.

Elevating women in the Bible illuminates our worth to the story of God in the world, and so I can’t overstate its importance. This is a book I’ll read every December for the foreseeable future, and will gift as often as I can. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and I hope, as you become a closer witness to the Christmas story, you are drawn closer to your own.

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As a sign-off, I want to say I am thankful for you. The fact that you spend your time reading and sharing Small Affairs means so much. Thank you for your support, kind comments, and feedback. This community is like the best mashed potatoes: we’ve been through hot water, taken some serious beatings, and are now the most comforting dish on the buffet. You’re welcome for that corny Thanksgiving metaphor, but it’s plain facts.

May you navigate your complicated table with grace and truth this Thursday, and may you experience God’s deep delight in you. As Father Gregory Boyle says, “You are what he had in mind.”

You are the beloved,

Leslie

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