Christmas Is For Lovers


IMG_1485Our first Christmas together, my husband did not want to get a tree. He reasoned that we would be spending the holidays with our families and were at home so little it wasn’t worth the effort. To me, no Christmas was complete without a real tree shimmering with lights and tinsel. So I was feeling glum as I made my way home from my teaching job one cold and wintry December evening. When I walked in the door, I was surprised to find my beloved kneeling at the base of a lovely tall fir tree, screwing the posts of a tree stand into its trunk. Next to the tree were boxes of lights and shiny ornaments he’d bought. He had carried the tree on his back for three blocks and up the three flights of stairs to the condo where it now stood in all its majesty at the big picture window. I was thrilled and touched.

Something about the holidays moves us to be kind and generous to each other. And over the years, it has been a time when my husband has gone out of his way to show me how much he loves me.

One of my favorite Christmas tree ornaments was given to me by my sister. It is a Precious Moments ornament with the inscription, “Our First Christmas Together 1988,” and I have always given it pride of place on our tree. One Christmas, one of my kids was attempting to hang it on the tree when it slipped out of his little hands and broke in two. I was inconsolable. Of all the ornaments we had collected over the years, that one was irreplaceable. That Christmas morning, in the pile of presents from my husband, was a small box with the very Precious Moments ornament I thought was gone forever. My husband had searched for its replacement and special ordered it for me.

Through the years, somehow my husband has found ways to give me gifts with deep emotional meaning. One year he had restored and tinted a favorite old photo of my sisters when they were little. Another year, I unwrapped three fancifully decorated letters of the alphabet representing the initials of each of our three children. But there was a fourth box of identical shape. When I opened it, tears came to my eyes. It was the letter “O,” representing our hope for the fourth child we were in the process of adopting.

Christmas is an emotional time for many people, and I am an extremely sensitive and emotional person. The year my father died, I could hardly bear to celebrate Christmas. The holiday that had always been marked by my father’s birthday on Christmas Eve would feel so empty without him. That year, my husband gently coaxed me through the season, helping me decorate the house and reminding me that our kids needed to feel the joy of the season – but also allowing me space to grieve.

The true magic of Christmas is that it can bring us closer to the people we love. That has certainly been the case with my husband and me over the years. I cherish the memories of almost three decades of Christmases together and pray that we have many, many more.





With everything going on in the world these days, it’s easy to feel discouraged. Greed, intolerance, partisanship, abuse, and violence have all cast a pall on my holiday spirits. I have several friends who have stopped going on Facebook to avoid the constant bad news and negativity. To add to my feelings of despondency, I learned that a little boy from my town lost his battle with cancer last week.

But then at Sunday morning Mass, something happened to me. I was watching parishioners file down the aisles after receiving Holy Communion, and a tiny feeling lit up my heart: hope. All these people, young and old, had given up their cozy beds of a Sunday morning and come together to pray. We were there because we have faith that goodness and love are stronger than evil and hatred.

Faith is the ” realization of things hoped for, evidence of things not seen.” (Heb. 11:1) This past Sunday, the first candle was lit on the Advent wreath, its light a reminder of that tiny flame within each of us that can kindle hope.

Hope looks like Sisterhood Soap, a collective of Iraqi refugee women living in the direst of conditions who are taking charge of their destiny by making and selling soap. Hope resembles the unlikely friendship between an 81-year-old white woman and a 22-year-old black man, who met playing the online game Words With Friends. Hope is the dominant spirit at GiGi’s Playhouse, a nonprofit that works toward achievement and acceptance of people with Down’s Syndrome. Hope is Operation Christmas Child, a mission to spread joy and faith throughout the world with boxes full of goodies for impoverished children.

Hope is the sound of the Salvation Army bell ringing out on the cold, busy street. Hope is the light in a young child’s eyes when he sees a brightly wrapped package on Christmas morning with his name on it. Hope is abundant as families gather at the holidays, break bread, and share their love for one another.  Hope is the babe in the manger, the unlikely harbinger of peace on earth.

With a spirit of hope, let’s move through the Christmas season, spreading joy and kindness, and doing good for friends and strangers alike.


‘Til We Meet Again


IMG_1148My husband’s beloved aunt passed away the other day. Although her death was not unexpected (She had fought a valiant battle against cancer.), it nevertheless has been a shattering blow to her loved ones.

Auntie Sue was a beautiful, happy, gentle woman all her life despite the heartache of losing a child and the untimely death of her husband. She remained extremely close to her children throughout her life and was a constant presence in the lives of her grandchildren.

I myself was the recipient of many kisses, warm words, and love from this woman that I came to consider my aunt as well. I remember when my first child was just a baby, Auntie Sue urged me to hurry up and have another one. From someone else I would have considered this interfering. But Auntie Sue had such a sweetness about her, I could only smile.

Towards the end of her life. Auntie Sue endured much suffering. But she still embraced her life and her family with arms wide open. I honestly can’t even picture her without a smile on her face.

Her suffering is over now, and I have no doubt she is being held in God’s warm embrace. Still, those who love her now abide with a heavy heart.

Although we will miss her warm smile and generous heart, we who love Auntie Sue must commend her spirit to God and keep her memory alive in our hearts until we meet again in God’s heavenly kingdom.


Hate Has No Ideological Boundaries



Wednesday’s attack on London’s Westminster Bridge has once again raised the specter of Islamic extremism and no doubt will unleash further animosity against Muslims living in the West. Although British authorities believe the terrorist, who died in the attack, had acted alone, ISIS claimed responsibility for inspiring the terror that killed 4 and seriously injured many others.

Without minimizing the effects of ISIS’s promulgation of hate against the West, I hope cool heads will prevail and leaders will not overreact to this instance of “lone wolf terrorism.” The truth is that hate, while inconsistent with the beliefs of any major religion, is unfortunately a universal emotion that plagues the human heart, and practitioners of religions ranging from Islam to Christianity to Buddhism have used a twisted take on their religious beliefs to justify their hateful and terrorist actions.

How else to explain why an Israeli Jew was just arrested for spreading bomb threats throughout U.S. Jewish centers? An attorney for the unnamed Jewish man is claiming mental instability as a cause for the cyberterrorism that has “sent a chill through the American Jewish community.” (Chicago Tribune, Friday, March 24, 2017)

And one need not go back very far to find instances of right wing Christian terrorism, such as the Planned Parenthood attack by Robert Dear or even the massacre of blacks in South Carolina by KKK admirer Dylann Roof. These individuals espoused extremist Christian ideology that justified attacking abortion providers and those who are not white.

Our great religions have striven over the centuries to inspire, comfort, and guide human beings in their quest for meaning. Many sacrifices and acts of heroism were guided by people’s religious beliefs. For example, numerous Christians acted to save Jews from the holocaust during World War II.

But humans being human, there are those among us who, for whatever reason, allow hate and anger to be the guiding forces of their lives. They also seek meaning in religion, but they must twist it to their violent desires.

At the risk of sounding trivial, the story of the Stars Wars saga puts it well: “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to the dark side.”

We will not solve the problem of hate crimes and terrorism by unleashing more hate or violence. We can only do that by strengthening the forces of love and community that might help turn some of these marginalized individuals away from violence and help them gain a sense of purpose that comes from healing, not hurting.

Love, Actually



Last night my daughters and I watched the movie Love, Actually. This 2003 film has fast become a Christmas classic for many viewers, with its humor and light romantic touch and its climax occurring on Christmas Eve. But the movie is about so much more than romantic love. It is about the enduring bonds of friendship and family, about loss, about bridging gaps between cultures, and about the triumph of love in the midst of life.

The first time I saw Love Actually, I’ll admit I was mostly focused on the couples, or the would-be couples, in the movie. Hugh Grant’s charming turn as a single British prime minister in love with an employee; cuckolded Colin Firth finding romance with his Portuguese maid; a little boy bereft of his mother falling in love with a classmate; wonderful Emma Thompson getting short shrift from her long-time husband, played by the late Alan Rickman. I felt the young man’s pain as he endured the love of his life marrying his own best friend, and the angst of a young woman in love from afar with a coworker but burdened with responsibility for her mentally ill brother.

What I like about the movie is that it is not all “happily ever after” for each romantic pair. And that is because other kinds of love often trump romance. For instance, when the woman and her colleague finally get together, the woman gets a call from her brother, and that familial love continually forces her to sacrifice her own happiness. Likewise, the forlorn member of the love triangle struggles to keep his feelings to himself so as not to harm the friendship he has with her husband. The young boy may be in love with a young girl, but it is the story of him and his stepdad and their growing relationship in the absence of a wife and mother that really takes center stage. And the Emma Thompson character stays with her unfaithful husband (for shame, Alan!) for the sake of their family.

At the end of the movie, to the tune of the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows,” we see love in all its many permutations as loved ones are reunited at Heathrow Airport. Parents and children, lovers, friends – all embrace in the comfort of their love for each other. Each snapshot is strung together on the screen until there is a “wall of love.”

Love, Actually is a cute, clever, but also surprisingly realistic depiction of the ties that bind. What better way to finish out Christmas Day with the family?*


*The movie is rated R for nudity, subject matter, and language. So save it for when your little ones are mature enough.



Change of Heart



The call came on my cell phone as I headed home on my morning walk, visions of a relaxing cup of coffee in my head. It was my husband, en route to downtown Chicago to drop off my daughter at a summer basketball camp.

The camp was Hubby’s idea, and I argued that it was not worth fighting rush hour traffic for five days just to send her there. My husband insisted that he would do all the driving and I would not be the least bit inconvenienced.

So when he called my cell this morning and asked with fake innocence what my plans were for the day, I knew it was trouble. Sure enough, my daughter’s contact lens had ripped, and he was asking me to drive downtown to bring her a new lens.

“No way!” was my response. “I’m not driving all the way downtown.”

After I hung up, I immediately felt guilty imagining my daughter spending the day doing drills and scrimmages with only one contact in her eye. So of course I called my husband back.

Now, my husband has different ring tones for different people who call. He thinks it’s funny that the tone announcing my calls is a loud fog horn, basically trumpeting, “Mayday! Mayday! It’s my wife!” (Hilarious, I know.) So when I called back, he told me my daughter had heard the tone and said, “Maybe Mom has had a change of heart.” Indeed.

I was full of righteous indignation as I got in my car and headed into rush hour traffic. But as I drove, I realized that I needed to ditch the attitude and be grateful I was there to help my child. I don’t give my kids everything they want, by any means. But if they need my help, I’m there, no matter how tired, stressed, or inconvenienced I feel.

Over the years I have lost many hours of sleep staying up with a sick child. I have missed events I had looked forward to because one of my children needed me at home. Forgotten lunches or homework papers dropped off at school, “just one more” book read at bedtime, boo-boos kissed and bandaged, monsters banished from closets and under beds: it’s all in a day’s work for a mother.

My daughter was relieved and happy to see me (and just to see, period) about 45 minutes later. My only regret is that I did not acquiesce to her request with more kindness and grace in the first place. Let’s hope my change of heart lasts until the next time someone I love needs me to open it.




Yesterday I spent the day with my sister and her sons as we gathered to celebrate the life of my brother-in-law Kent. The visitation was scheduled to begin at noon, but long before that hour, friends and family members were lined up to pay their respects and share their memories with his family.

For three hours the line snaked out the door, and my sister’s family stood tirelessly, greeting the well wishers with warmth and love. As I watched the scene, I thought of the Biblical admonition that we reap what we sow. The outpouring of love, respect, and gratitude from his many friends, neighbors, colleagues, and family members was a testament to how much Kent had given to others in his too short life.

So many of us live our lives turned inward, protecting ourselves and our possessions, feeding our own egos and needs. We fear giving too much away, and consequently, we never live life to its fullest. Kent was the opposite. He thought of others first, always striving to include people, taking an interest in their lives, nurturing his relationship with his family and friends every step of the way. As a result, his life was joyous and filled with love, and the outpouring of memories yesterday’s mourners shared with my sister revealed a man bursting with life and enthusiasm.

It is so easy to live life in judgment of others. We nurse grudges and vow revenge on those who slight us. We recite a litany of the ways we have been wronged and live in bitterness. Kent’s life teaches me to let karma take care of the mean, the selfish, and the spiteful people in our lives.

My sister told me that Kent thought of mean-spirited people as disabled. Instead of writing them off or treating them in kind, he treated them with compassion, recognizing their emotional deficits but choosing to love instead of hate. His reward was that he was loved with extravagance by countless people, both personally and professionally.

Kent’s legacy lives on in so many ways: in his three fine sons, in his loving wife, in the professional accolades he was always too modest to brag about. His name even graces the educational policy center he helped create. Most importantly, his memory lives on in the hearts of his friends and family.

Now that’s karma.