November Season

 

 

When my daughter went to work the day after Halloween, she found an informal poll scrawled on the breakroom white board: Christmas Music After Halloween: For or Against?  She looked at it, and then added a new column—Thanksgiving songs.

 

November is in danger of getting lost. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas. I love Christmas more than any other holiday and Christmas music is my favorite. For all of you who love putting up your Christmas decorations right after Halloween, go for it!

 

But I have come to love November. It’s a break between the Halloween crazies and Christmas non-stop celebrations. Even nature slows down. The festive oranges and yellows fall to the ground, leaving a monochromatic, peaceful palette of neutrals. The temperatures drop, inducing time by the fire and sipping hot drinks.

 

November is a chance to breathe, pause, reflect. To enjoy a calendar that is not smack full of activities. October was filled with Halloween activities, which have somehow spread from a one-night childhood romp to a month filled with pumpkin patches, fairs, and costume parties. I’m not complaining, because it is a month of fun. But it’s nice to have a break. 

 

November is a time for walks in the cold-- but not so cold you don’t want to walk. You can meander along a river framed with golden trees and a vaulted by brilliant blue. You can stroll through your neighborhood, chatting with friends who are also outside, doing end-of-season outdoor chores. You can savor conversations with those you may not see so much in the future, when they will soon be forced inside by cold and snow.

 

And of course, in the US, November is a time to give thanks, to prepare for what may be the most peaceful holiday of them all. American Thanksgiving is simple: 1) Cook some good food, 2) gather with family and friends to eat it. Maybe watch a parade or some football, go for a walk, enjoy a movie, play some games. There is no (or at least not yet) bleed-out of ancillary activities—just the one day. 

 

So, November can be a time to pause and think about all the blessings in your life. My daughter’s family has a construction paper tree taped to the wall, and every day they add autumn-colored leaves with what they are thankful for. As the tree fills with leaves, their hearts fill with gratitude. I have been posting on social media my daily thanks—for family, friends, colorful leaves, a dance concert, rain, and blue skies. Our natural temperament is to mostly think about our wants, our lacks. It is heart-filling to look around and notice blessings.

 

November can also be a time to plan and prepare. My December calendar is packed. I know that there is a good chance I will have my traditional holiday meltdown at some point this Christmas. But this year I am trying to forestall that by working ahead a little. I’m making menus, buying gifts, doing some deep cleaning, getting the cards done, doing some advance party preparation. Somehow, when doing these things in November, they don’t seem so hard. In fact, it just seems even more peaceful, to be getting ahead on some things. I’m doing some preparation, but I’m not feeling frazzled by it.

 

Instead, I am savoring the spirit of November, the season for being cozy and calm. I am rejoicing in simple, daily joys. I feel peace.

 

But now, this week is Thanksgiving—and then, look out. The holidays will be upon us, in all their glorious non-stop celebration!

 

 

 

Worry Looks a lot Like Love, But It's Not

If you follow the news, there’s a lot to worry about these days: violent and deadly wars in both Israel/Palestine and in Ukraine, a deadly earthquake in Afghanistan, a hurricane in Mexico, a mass shooting in Maine—events so horrific a person can hardly comprehend the terror. And then there’s the added concerns of disfunction in the US Congress and dissatisfaction (terror?) with the likely nominees for President.  

 

But even not counting the global and national scale of worry—each of us probably has plenty of personal concerns keeping us awake at night. Work worries, financial worries, couple worries, children worries.  We’ve all got worries.

 

So we, you and I and everyone we know—we worry.

 

But really does it do any good?

 

Tamara Runia, a leader in my church, recently shared her father’s philosophy: “He'd learned from experience that worry feels a lot like love, but it's not the same.”

 

This struck me because I have regularly felt that love is the reason for my worry. I love my family, I love my country, I love the world and the earth. Since I love, of course I worry.

 

I am an expert worrier. When my 9-year-old daughter forgot to do her state report until the night before, I lay awake worrying she would flunk out of high school. (For the record, she was a straight-A student, graduated from university with honors, and raised three lovely children.) When my 14-year-old son was late getting back from band camp, I worried he was out carousing and on his way to Juvie. (For the record, the band bus was late, and he went on to get an MFA, become a prize-winning photographer, and a successful business owner.)

Sometimes I have joked: Yeah, I worry. And you can be grateful I do. It’s my worry that keeps this family going!”

So Sister Runia’s words stopped me. “Worry feels a lot like love, but it’s not the same.” 

 

Really?

 

I did a quick google search to confirm, and found this, in an article by Andrew Bernstein in Psychology Today:

 

“For my friend and millions like her, worry is a sign of love. It says that, even though I am okay, I am selfless enough to suffer vicariously for you. And isn't that the definition of love? Wouldn't it be uncaring not to feel terrible for others, given what some people have to deal with?

“At the risk of giving worriers everywhere nothing to do, the answer is no.”

I should have known. My dad used to say worry is like a rocking in a rocking chair; you feel like you are getting somewhere, but you never do. It’s useless.

Bernstein goes on to point out, 

When you worry about someone else, you teach them that things aren't going to be okay. . .  . You become someone who rejects life in the name of some imaginary future, and in that act of rejection, you teach misery. All of this, of course, is done innocently and with the best intentions, simply because you believe worry is love. But it isn't.

So, according to Bernstein--all that obsessing about the awful things going on in the world and worry about being on the brink of disaster, all that worry about your children or spouse or friend-- all that worry is only making everything worse. It may even contribute to the disasters you fear. 

By worrying, you are teaching those around you--and, worse yet, yourself--that things will get worse. There is nothing you can do. It’s awful.

So truly, worry will not help your kids. Worry will not help the world or the climate or Washington politics. And worse yet, worry makes things worse.

What does help? 

In Philippians 4, the apostle Paul suggests “by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your request be made known unto God” and then “think on” “whatsoever things are true, . . .just,. . . pure, lovely, of good report.” (Philippians 4:8)

As Mr. Rogers always said, look for the helpers. Focus on the good in the world. Have faith that good will prevail. And look for what you can do to help. 

Contribute to a charity helping war refugees or to a fund for the families of the mass shooting victims. Work for a cause that may limit world conflict or cut back on mass shootings.

And for your personal relationships—your children, your husband, and your friends--I like what Tamara Runia suggests:

Our job is not to teach someone who’s going through a rough patch that they are bad or disappointing. . . . let’s tell our loved ones in spoken and unspoken ways the messages they long to hear: “Our family feels whole and complete because you are in it.” “You will be loved for the rest of your life—no matter what.”

Jesus Christ, on the eve of his arrest and crucifixion, taught this truth, “In the world ye shall have tribulation.” Yes, bad things are going to happen, to you personally and to those around you.

And yet, he said, “Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

As we face the horrible things happening in the world and perhaps in our own lives, we need to try not to worry. Because worry is not love. 

Love is faith and hope and good works. Love is good cheer. Love is the way we can look forward to a future of happiness, in our families and in the world.