What Happens in December Stays in December.

"A man reaps what he sows." -Galatians 6:7

Mike and I were not incredibly committed to our no-sweets/bread-during-Advent fast, but we both did pretty well until just a few days before Christmas. And let me tell you--bypassing the nonstop eating from Thanksgiving to Christmas was such a relief! This post is about one of the things our fast made me think about: the illusion that our lives are compartmentalized, that certain parts don't touch any of the other parts. Let me explain.

What happens in December stays in December.
January is the season for diets, exercise, New Years' resolutions, and major life changes. December is the season for giving into the darkness of winter. Just sit on the couch and eat cookies. Whatever weight you gain in December can be lost in January.

Sorry, no. Maintaining weight is much easier than losing weight. So from the diet perspective, eating for a month straight is not a good plan.

But there's more. Giving way to the invitation to indulge oneself, to embrace the unceasing message of consume, consume, consume that comes at us more in the weeks leading up to Christmas than even the rest of the year is not something you can do for a month and then walk away from. I say this from experience. Living one out of every twelve months in service of the god of consumerism gets you nowhere.

Maybe this is a blog of repentance. For the people I ignored because I didn't feel like going out or making a phone call, for the gifts I didn't buy because I wanted more for myself, for the impatience I exhibited because I couldn't be bothered with the self-restraint required by choosing patience, for the memories I didn't make with my kid because I wanted to relax, I repent.

What happens in December does not stay in December. It hangs on into January just like that extra ten pounds. The self-indulgence, the impulsive buying, the laziness. You can't just wake up on January 1st a different person.

Thinking about how easy it is to believe that led me to think of some other compartments.

What happens in childhood stays in childhood.
At a party recently, I was talking to a schoolteacher who was telling me that many of the kids at his school move there because of family crises: divorce, job loss, illness or death in the family. The location of his town makes it kind of the last stop out of the city/suburbs when money is gone and families are forced to relocate to a cheaper area. However, this being a party after all, he dismissed my concern for his students saying, "But they're kids. Kids are tough. They get over things."

I had just watched Ender's Game the night before, so my brain couldn't let that comment pass. Ender's Game is an incredible science fiction fantasy about a war between humanity and an enemy alien species. But it is also about a boy trying to find his way--in his family, in his school, in a global crisis. His actions ultimately result in the destruction of an entire species, and he is doomed to wander the universe carrying the last surviving member in search of a world in which they can rebuild their species and he can let go of the weight of his actions.

Kids have been reading Orson Scott Card's novel for a long time. Because kids know--what happens in childhood can haunt you for the rest of your life. It is too easy for adults to toss out those words: "Kids are tough," which lets them off the hook from taking responsibility for their actions towards their own kids or their neglect of the hurting kids around them.

I think that (we) adults also like to draw a line between kids and grown-ups, claiming that we've left the past behind. Then we don't ever have to deal with the heartache of childhood events. Unfortunately, though, that stuff that we don't deal with can weigh on us as heavily as Ender's burden, taking over not only our childhood but also our adulthood.

What happens in childhood matters. So let's be compassionate to the kids we meet, and let's also be a little more compassionate to the adults we meet who carry invisible burdens. And maybe while we're at it, we can be a little more compassionate to ourselves.

What happens in college stays in college.
Ok. So this is what happens when I go to long between blog posts. I have way too much to say. But this one is important too.

In Christian Smith's book, Lost in Transition, drawing on thousands of interviews with young adults, Smith laments the narrative our society has woven about "the college experience." It involves drinking and partying as much as possible, one night stands, and casting aside your parents' values. For many, college is viewed as a four-year recess from responsibility and consequences.

Since I attended a Christian college, my own experience as well as most of the people around me wasn't so extreme. But here's what really got to me. Smith said that maybe we shouldn't uproot kids from their support systems at such a formative and vulnerable time in their lives. Maybe we shouldn't send kids away from our communities when they are first trying their hands at being adults.

Because what happens in college doesn't stay in college. For a few that means tragedy such as death or severe injury as a result of bad decisions. For others that means heartbreak from relationships that became a lot more serious than anyone ever intended. But for a much greater number it means that they learn to be adults from their peers who don't know any more than they do. It means they learn how to participate in politics, how to choose a spouse, how to develop a philosophy of life that will shape their career plans and their family lives, how to talk and think about God as an educated person--all from the few older people who cross their path and from their peers.

We reap what we sow.
I've always been told, "Don't date someone who is mean to the waiter." It's for just this reason. You can't be mean to one person and consistently kind to someone else. You can't be self-indulgent for one month and be selfless the other eleven.You can't be reckless for a season and resume responsibility like nothing happened.

So, how do you compartmentalize? Are there parts of your life that you've convinced yourself don't affect the others? Are there other seasons of life that our culture says are "throwaways"?

In A Land of Excess

"This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God." - Jesus

My friend Liz (suddenlyfive.blogspot.com) came with her family to visit over Thanksgiving. She told me that they almost never have leftovers at their house because the two Nicaraguan teenagers who live with them eat everything in front of them. Habits developed throughout a life of feast or famine (more famine than feast), have led them to feast whenever they have a chance.

My first thought was that self-control is a learned skill and the ability to save things for later is a sign of maturity.

But then I remembered Jesus' story about the man who had such a great harvest that he had to build bigger barns to store all his extra grain.

"You fool!" God said. "This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have stored up for yourself?"

Saving is one of the highest virtues of American Christians. Get rid of your credit card debt. Live within your means. Put something away for a rainy day. Practice self-control in the face of consumerism that tells you to "buy, buy, buy."

Hearing about my Nicaraguan friends suddenly flipped that value on its head. John Wesley famously said, "Make all you can, save all you can, give all you can." We are quick to criticize the people who only practice the first part of that aphorism, people who constantly pursue better jobs and more money without regard for anything else. However, American Christianity is a lot more complimentary towards people who only make it to the second point, people who work hard and live frugally, putting away a nest egg for the future.

But what about the third part, "Give all you can"?

According to an article I read recently, Americans fail at dieting because of a phenomenon called "decision fatigue." We are faced with so many decisions every day that we just get tired of choosing not to eat bad food and to exercise. We are both psychologically and biologically programmed to hoard--to eat as much as we can and rest as much as we can--in preparation for an unknown future time of famine. In a land where that famine never comes, we get fat.

According to another excellent article from The New York Times about a Greek island full of people who regularly live into their 90s or even 100s, individual change is nearly impossible. After listing a number of factors that contribute to the overall health of the islanders, the author writes this:

"Every one of these factors can be tied to longevity. That's what the $70 billion diet industry and $20 billion health-club industry do in their efforts to persuade us that if we eat the right food or do the right workout, we'll be healthier, lose weight and live longer. But these strategies rarely work. Not because they're wrong-minded: it's a good idea for people to do any of these healthful activities. The problem is, it's difficult to change individual behaviors when community behaviors stay the same. In the United States, you can't go to a movie, walk through an airport or buy cough medicine without being routed through a gantlet of candy bars, salty snacks and sugar-sweetened beverages. The processed-food industry spends more than $4 billion a year tempting us to eat. How do you combat that? Discipline is a good thing, but discipline is a muscle that fatigues. Sooner or later, most people cave in to relentless temptation."

In a land of feasting, is saving really a virtue? What is the difference between saving and hoarding? My initial judgment of my Nicaraguan friends and their lack of self-control could easily be mirrored back to my own life. Is learning to live surrounding by plenty really a virtue?

Mike and I have decided to do an Advent fast this year. We've given up sweets and bread for the next few weeks. Partly, we are both tired of being overweight. But after spending Thanksgiving with my Nicaraguan friends, I found myself appalled by the insatiable appetite of Americans between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Everything from peppermint mochas to a hundred different kinds of truffles and cookies is everywhere--on tv commercials, on billboards, on posters and pictures throughout stores, on the sidebars of Facebook and Google. Work parties, friend parties, work dinners, friend coffee dates. Eating while you shop. Eating on the run in the midst of the craziness. It's all madness!

How do we make it stop? I think our Advent fast is a step in the right direction, but I wonder if our whole perspective on saving needs to change. I wonder if we need to stop being okay with being surrounded by such plenty, if we need to stop being so proud of our self-control and start wondering why we got so good at turning down temptation in the first place.

Maybe I need to stop listening to Dave Ramsey and start listening to Jesus.