time gap

It's 11:19 p.m. here in Hawaii, and these evenings have turned out to be my lonely hour, because everyone back home is asleep. I've always been a bit of a night owl and yet never liked being the last up in my home or at a slumber party. I kind of feel that way now--like I'm the last one to turn in for the night and my buddy fell asleep right there in the sleeping bag while I was trying to tell them something.

This was the part I did not like about Hawaii before, and I can tell you I don't like it much this time either. I'm hoping that I'll eventually learn to love these peaceful hours, to rest with God after my children have gone to bed and all possibility of chatter has ceased.

The other night John said something that irritated me, and I wanted to shun him and yet, what could I do, considering my desperate condition--a night owl and extrovert situated on the most isolated island chain in the world--with nary a friend to dial?

So when he tried to talk nicely to me I gave him a look and said, "Just so you know, I'm just talking to you now because you're my only friend on this time zone."

To my far away friends and family--it seems there is only one way to be close to you while you sleep. When the nightly urge to call comes up I'll try to restrain myself and pray for you instead. I believe that prayer closes the time gap, the distance gap--every gap actually--and that it is an act of holy intimacy and a privilege.

So I am praying for you tonight, and I hope your sleep will be untroubled and expansive and that you will untangle some worry or fear through your dreams, that you will wake refreshed and whole, ready to receive every good thing that comes to you. And I'll be praying for those good things, too, that they will come unexpectedly and steadily, like snowflakes at twilight, covering the green grass and branches and pavement and making everything fresh again.

house, church

So we had our Christmas services in the home of Darrell and Pat Hill. We drove about four hours total between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, on a long windy road through lava fields--barren and fertile at the same time--ocean on one side and a snow-capped mountain on the other. It helped me, a little, to see some snow for Christmas, even if we didn't get close enough to play in it.

The services were lovely--I was moved by the icons set up in an artist's studio(can you find the paintbrushes and easels?). There was something so good about being together there--a sweet spirit seemed to permeate the air. Christmas Eve, the wind howled against the house, so strong at times that it lifted the roof and dropped it with a thud. We celebrated the liturgy on Christmas Day with sun streaming in the windows, illuminating the falling rain.

Here's a photo of Anna at work on her picture for Santa:






















On Christmas Day, back at home, we encountered a large snail and exchanged yuletide greetings:

beginning to look a lot like . . .

On our second night here there was a huge storm which caused us to loose power, flooded our road, and caused the ocean to swell. I've mentioned before that living near the ocean is lovely, but I don't trust it any further than I can throw it, and during the storm I was begging it to behave properly.

Our condo is built on old Hawaiian burial grounds, which is a fact that I've made peace with, especially because the spots where bones were found are fenced off and protected according to Hawaiian custom. But that second night, in the dark, I was a little uneasy so we headed out to Wal-Mart to buy flashlights and candles.

As I was weaving my way through the snow-flecked blinking Christmas trees, past the beeping toys and blow-up Rudolphs of Wal-Mart in a state of total disorientation--the song, "It's Beginning to Look A lot Like Christmas" came over the loudspeaker and I could only shake my head. As far as I'm concerned it doesn't look anything like Christmas around here.

The fact that Christmas is nearly here is something that I can't really make sense of just yet. Kind of like how I still can't believe that as I write this post most of the people I love are sitting down to dinner but I'm still sipping my coffee, or the fact that at night, when I really want to call a friend, they're all tucked in for the night. My internal clock remains confused, to the point that any local could tell me it was any time of the day and I would believe them.

To that end, the days continue to pass at a marvelously slow rate. It's calming for me to move slowly and to feel that if I'm late nobody will panic because people are expected to take their time, to "talk story" and to be available to whatever experiences present themselves.

I used to think the "Aloha Spirit" concept was made up for tourists. But I've come to believe it is a real thing and that we are being changed and washed by it. It's a hospitality of soul and openness, a willingness to accept, both within the church and outside of it, as my friend Rachel said, "That most everyone is doing the very best they can with what they have."

So this Christmas, I'm doing my best to celebrate in this rather odd context that has no reference point in the childhood of my youth. This best included assembling a ginger bread house on the lanai (no bugs please!) and then storing it in the fridge, attending one Christmas hula pageant (who would have known the hula girls were there in the manger!) and getting my toes ready for the season, a small detail that never would have made it into my holiday plans back home.

I must close because Anna is warning me that Santa will only be at the open air market for one more hour . . . So I'm off to see Santa and hoping against hope that he won't be wearing shorts or toting a surfboard.

vespers

So we had Vespers on Saturday at a tiny Catholic church nearby. I totally fell in love with the church, sweet as it was against the blue sky, light pouring out from that little door. I just couldn't stop looking at it--and I didn't mind too much when Natalie fussed and I had to take her out, because then I could take it all in.

When we arrived there was a couple waiting to greet Fr. John with a lei and a fruit basket with limes and grapefruit from their yard. They had been responsible for much of the recent repairs to the church, and they beamed as they spoke about how they'd been restoring it over the past six months.

Fr. John wasn't there yet and this wasn't our normal church, so some people were worried he might miss the driveway. One the founding members of the mission went down to the road to wait for him, and I called to make sure Fr. John knew where to turn. Fr. John said, "Oh no--are people waiting for me?" When I repeated this question to the man beside the road he turned and said, "We've been waiting for him for years."