A Smattering for your Advent and January

Perhaps it is the post-book-writing slump or perhaps the stacks of books to read and papers to be written for graduate school or perhaps it is the anti-anxiety/depression medication I began in the summer, but whatever the reason, I know it has meant I am showing up in this space less and less. It has not been a purposeful action, though. I think Sayable has felt like an afterthought, or perhaps not an afterthought in the traditional sense, but a thought which is at the very back of my mind, behind all the other thoughts. I don’t know. I do know, though, that I see your messages telling me that you miss these words in your inboxes and how much you are happy when they come. And that makes me glad that we have this rapport, we two.

I have saved a few things over the past few weeks and perhaps months, and maybe they will bless you along your way today.

This by Michael Wright was for the first week of Advent, but I read it this week and it resonated. “He's basically naming the burden of what all our common clichés tell us: live in the moment, live your dream, speak your truth, etc. And I wonder if this mental burden not only tries to replace community but also keeps us isolated from it. Like an isolating feedback loop where we're “free” to live as we want but constantly bombarded with companies trying to sell us the good life we're imagining.”

This is an older piece from Aarik Danielsen that I had opportunity to reread and it’s just as stunning a second time. “It might feel as if hardness will stave off the end of the world, but what would that world be worth? The world may be a terrible place but, as Frederick Buechner famously said, don’t be afraid. Acknowledging that I am dependent, that I will die defenseless—that we all will—grants me the freedom not to let this world get to me. We are free to do the work of hope. Tough work, but not hard.”

This from Russell Moore has been helpful to keep in the back of my mind with all the recent talk about deconstruction. “But to you—to us—I would counsel: Let’s believe in Jesus enough to bear patiently with those who are hurt, especially those hurt by the church. Let’s not assume that, in every case, those disappointed or angry or at the verge of walking away are doing so because they hold a deficient worldview or because they want to chase immorality. There are some people for whom that is true, in every age. But many, maybe most of them, are not Judas seeking to flee by night but are instead Simon Peter on the seashore, asking, “To whom shall we go?” (John 6:68).”

And this from Tish Harrison Warren on the need for silence. “The literature scholar Alan Jacobs argues that we need to embrace ‘not a permanent silence, but a refusal to speak at the frantic pace set by social media.” He calls silence “the first option — the preferential option for the poor in spirit, you might say; silence as a form of patience, a form of reflection, a form of prayer.’”

. . .

As I mentioned in my last post, we are holding a slower Advent in our home this year. Instead of the traditional evening lighting of the candles and reading, we have been doing it together in the morning. We are reading Tsh Oxenreider’s book Shadow and Light and I love the simple rhythm it’s giving us. (By the way, if you’re a planner, she has a companion book for Lent and Easter called Bitter and Sweet which you can preorder here.) I have loved this morning rhythm so much that I hope she writes a book for each part of the church calendar year.

If you follow me on Instagram, you know that I have been on the hunt for years now, for a candle that delights the senses and doesn’t make me nauseated or give me a headache. I think I have found it! And best yet, it’s the kind of scent that works for summer and winter alike, Balsam Fir. I bought them from Downeast Doodle Candle Company, a small business located in Maine. If you’re sensitive to scents and still love them, perhaps try one of theirs.

Now is a good time to think about the rhythms and rights you want to set to the coming year.

For me, I’m considering some ways to welcome another season of book marketing (my least favorite part of being an author). I usually try to take the month of January off of social media, but I am considering taking the first few months of the year off, perhaps through March. I appreciate a good reset, but I think a good and hard reset may be helpful at times.

I also usually take the month of January to consider what newsletters I subscribe to. I ask myself:

Is this bringing me joy to read?

Am I excited to read it when it comes? Or does it sit in my inbox far too long unread?

How does this writer’s work bear on my life in actual ways? In other words, I am just reading for information or am I reading for formation?

Depending on the answers to those questions, I unsubscribe from a lot of newsletters in January. I will always have my few staple favorites, but I’ve learned to be okay saying, “Their words are important, but they don’t have to be important for my life right now.”

In that vein, too, I reconsider who I follow on social media. I taper down my follows early in the year and somewhere around the fall I find I’ve ratcheted right back up to the same old number. When I ask myself why that happens, I’m never completely satisfied with the answer. Often times the answer is because of some kind of fear or scarcity mindset in me. I want people to like me (who doesn’t?) and fear that if I don’t follow them back they won’t like me. Or I fear if they don’t know my heart than they’ll take my words out of context when they see them. Or if they don’t see me following them, that I will lose value in their life. Whatever the reasons, when I sit down in January and take stock, I usually come up wanting. The mute button is a beautiful opportunity to take a break without the awkward dance of unfollowing and then regretting it.

I do not find it helpful to start or commit to starting a lot of things in January. In fact, I find the opposite more helpful for me. What can I stop or commit to stopping? Perhaps it’s a way of thinking that is no longer serving my spirit in helpful ways. Or perhaps it is a rhythm I’ve picked up along the way that isn’t blessing our home. Or perhaps it’s a relationship that God is asking me to relinquish to him for the time being. Maybe it is a program or class or group that was once a source of joy but has now become a space of obligation. Maybe it’s a way of eating that feels suffocating or unhealthy. It could be a lot of things. I don’t know why the idea of stopping is more helpful to me than starting, but it is. Maybe it will be helpful for you too.

Another thing I’ve been really leaning into this year is the seasons. Being back in the north over a year now, I’ve realized something: no matter where we live, it’s always tempting to rush ahead to the next season. In Texas I couldn’t WAIT for fall every year, for the summer heat to break. But last winter I realized I was approaching spring in the same way. So beginning in the spring I decided that I was really going to live into the whole three months of a particular season. I wasn’t going to call it autumn until September 20, even if the leaves were beginning to change. I wasn’t going to claim winter before December 20, even if there was snow on the ground. I am determined to live in the fullness of what this season is, even as it bleeds into the next with a seeming prematureness. Living within the Church calendar is helping me with this too. I feel less rushed to be celebrating or mourning what has passed or what is coming, and more content to just be in today. Perhaps you may find this print helpful if this resonates with you.

Lastly, if you don’t follow me on social media (and it’s totally okay if not!), I announced last week that A Curious Faith is now ready for preorder. I love this book, I hope it’s okay for me to say that. I don’t know if I’ve ever made something before that I earnestly couldn’t wait to give it to people, but I made this for you and I hope you like it.