It wasn’t tea for two, but it felt cozy anyway.

Yesterday I took my grandma to my church’s annual Christmas Tea. It is a very well done and elaborate event, with a reputation that draws in women from all over the Denver metro area. They hold it on three dates and ultimately host 1000 women each season. This year’s theme was Celtic—the music, the decorations, the favors. It was lovely.

I have always admired my grandma. She is sharp, inquisitive, courageous, funny, and has a taste for adventure. She raised seven kids—five boys (one of them is my dad) and two girls. Merely talking to her is an adventure. She has stories that can make you laugh, cry, and contemplate. She has been practically everywhere, from above the Arctic circle on a fishing boat to the African savanna on safari to the sublime landscape of New Zealand.

My childhood memories of her are vivid and my impression of her then was that she was always on the move. She cross-country skied for years, was a member of the Colorado Mountain Club, and loved hiking the Rockies. The pictures lining her living room walls show her at various locations all around the world, on mountaintops or seasides, surrounded by the expanse of nature in its might. She loves the natural world and she loves the God who is the Creator.

So it was especially meaningful when the Celtic-themed program began yesterday and we were reminded how the Celts were intuned to nature and God’s creation. Living on the green isles of what we now call Britain they were surrounded by astonishing lush and craggy beauty, both sea-swept and woodsy. Pictures of the landscapes where the ancient Celts dwelled were flashed in front of our eyes while the music played. The room was lit by hundreds of candles, and these things came together in an atmosphere of reverential awe.

The story of Christmas was interwoven in this backdrop, a reminder of what the season means. Seasonally speaking, it is the darkest and coldest time of the year, but renewal is ours when we remember who lights up the dark nights and warms our cold days—and why. The Celts were some of the first in Europe to embrace and protect the faith, and they planted their intricate art and passionate music into their expressions of faith. We were shown pages from the Book of Kells, which is an illuminated manuscript of the four gospels that I remember studying during my art history days in college:

We were also given the words of St. Patrick:

I bind unto myself today
the virtues of the starlit heaven,
the glorious sun’s life-giving ray,
the whiteness of the moon at even,
the flashing of the lightning free,
the whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
the stable earth, the deep salt sea,
around the old eternal rocks.

I felt a profound connection between these words and my grandma’s outlook on life. She has been around the world and back again. She has weathered the “tempestuous shocks” of loss and stood on the eternal rocks. Through it all, she has maintained her devotion to God and lives showing so much love, not only despite the tempest, but because of it.

As I drove her home, she made me laugh, like she usually does. We were talking about how hard it is living with short daylight hours. She told me about her grandmother, who thought that February 2nd was a wonderful day—the first day of the year you could eat supper without having to turn on the lights!

I don’t have to wait for February 2nd or the first day of Spring to know that warmth and light are near. I have Emmanuel and the gift of a grandmother, and many other family members, whose lives demonstrate that beauty.

This morning Sammy said “jam is spelled J-A-M!” I told him that he was right and asked how he knew, since no jam jar was in sight. He shrugged his shoulders and returned to his Fruity Fables.

I contemplated how my 4 year old just knew how to spell “jam”, then it occured to me that his name is Sam, and he knows how to spell it. He probably figured out that he could replace the “s” with the “j” and turn Sam into Jam. How proud I was!

Aidan piped up: “Sam and jam rhyme! And so does lamb!”

Then she noted the big difference, much to my surprise, “but the ‘b’ in ‘lamb’ is forced to stay quiet because ‘m’ is a bully…”

“M is a bully?” I asked, rather disappointed that M is so mean.

“Yes, M is a bully when it won’t let B talk,” she said.

Why is M a bully? Was it raised without good parental guidance? Does it have self-esteem issues? Dr. Phil says “hurt people hurt people” There must be much mourning in M’s past. Much malevolence. Many months of mean mothering. Mucho mischief.

And what makes B a target of M’s harrassment? I don’t like blaming the victim, but does the poor fellow play with Barbie? Does his bulbous backside have anything to do with M forcing B into bondage? Poor B cannot speak when the words numb and dumb are uttered–how ironic.

Aidan continued, “And some letters are unfair to others. Like T-I-O-N should be S-H-U-N.”

How dare the letters T-I-O-N gang up together to keep “shun” down, under their thumbs (which, in turn, allows another bullying opportunity for M)! On their own, they are such nice, sweet letters. But get them together and they rule the world! They rig elections! They take endless vacations! They throw splashy celebrations of their power! They incite revolution! They ought to know that when grouped together, they should sound like “tee-eye-on”. But they don’t care. It is a violation of common sense. Maybe if S-H-U-N showed a little gumption, they wouldn’t be in this woeful situation.

The next thing I will hear about is how I comes before E, except after C! Does C have some dirt on I? All C has to do is show up on the scene, and I receives grief. For C to prefer E is her business, I suppose. What I find odd, however, is that when faced with science, C backs off and allows I to get closer. Dr. Phil would chastize C and command consistency.

Who invented this language, anyway?