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"?