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A few years ago my dad and I had this argument.

“I don’t think people should make New Year’s resolutions,” he said.

“What!” I exclaimed. “But you’re a pastor! You’re supposed to be all about people trying to make new starts in life, turning over a new leaf. You know, all that redemption and rebirth crap.”

“New Year’s resolutions never work for me,” he said. “I think they’re pointless, so I don’t make them any more.”

I couldn’t believe it. My life was based around two months of angelic living, followed by a ten month unraveling of every good habit I ever started. If I didn’t make New Year’s resolutions, when would I ever do anything good?

Never.

* * * * *

As usual, I’m starting to see that my dad might be right (shhh, don’t tell him). But it’s true – how many New Year’s resolutions actually make it out of the winter, much less see the light of spring or the heat of summer? Perhaps this is the true reason that autumn is my favorite season – every year, by the time fall rolls around, I’ve managed to shed the fetters of all my New Year’s resolutions and have gone back to being, well, plain old unpolished me.

But what do we expect? We set ourselves up to fail. We resolve to eat better or drink less alcohol, but no sooner have we shouted “Happy New Year!” at our friend’s New Year’s Eve party than we are back at the food table eating those chocolate nut things and chugging champagne by the plastic cup-full. I know one of my favorites (resolving to get up earlier so that I can be more productive) is always thrown off course the very first morning of the year, when I get home at 2am, my alarm goes off at 6am, and I hit snooze eight times.

The very act of bringing in the New Year thwarts 93% of all New Year’s resolutions.

* * * * *

But I think the main reason most New Year’s resolutions bite the dust is our inadequate response to failure. We set out with this clean slate, and once we screw up once we throw in the towel. Everyone wants a perfect record. No one wants to spend the entire year fighting for positive change – we want it all to come so easily. And when it doesn’t, well, you know, the path of least resistance and all that.

The really good changes, like exercising or losing weight or treating yourself in a kinder way, never exist with 100% success. You will mess up. So unless you’re cool with that, and plan on persevering even after the first set back, then don’t bother making the resolution.

That’s why this year I’m turning the table. I’m making only two resolutions: the first is to smoke the pipe I got for Christmas from my brother-in-law on a regular basis. I figure that it’s not the worst vice someone could have, and since I always fail at New Year’s resolutions anyway, this means I won’t smoke at all. While this is disappointing, I’d rather be disappointed by failing to perform a vice than failing to perform a virtue.

Still with me?

I’ve made only one other resolution: this year, my resolution is not to make any New Year’s resolutions.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Some people hate it. Some people love it. Some people move just to avoid it. Some people vacation in it.

That’s right. We’re talking about snow.The wonderful white stuff that I love to see in December and, by the end of February, usually loathe.

These are my favorite things to do in it (well, the first four are – the last one is sort of an end-of-February snowy activity):

1) Snowball fights – there are fewer things more fun than spending an entire day building a couple of snow forts, and then using a 15 minute snowball battle to tear them both to the ground

2) Drive in it – As a married parent of four, I don’t get to experience very much life-threatening excitement. Skydiving, swimming with sharks, going on vacations with Bear Grylls…they all seem like things to do after the kids are in college. The only excitement left for me is to drive into a snow drift at 55 mph and try to control the fish tailing.

3) Eat it – When I was a kid, grandma used to have us go out and get a bowl full of snow, mix in sugar and vanilla flavoring and !presto! a delicious bowl of snow. I recently tried it with the kids. They took one bite and threw their bowls back outside. I tried a bite and had to agree.

4) Sled on it – the Chevy Chase sledding scene from Christmas Vacation is the best sledding scene in the history of movie making.

5) Watch it melt…and see spring come gushing up through it.

So help me fill out the list. What do you like to do with snow?

Only one week to go and we’ll have gone a year without television. Well, not a very strict year: we still caught a few movies on DVD, and I did sneak a few World Cup games at my in-laws in the summer. And then there’s our Sunday afternoon dinners at my parents, where the NFL is always on…

But all in all, we pretty much went without it. Apparently, if I’m an average television watcher, that means:

1) I saved approximately 11oo hours of my life. But I know I spent about 200 extra hours on the internet, and another 250 or so blogging. And another 100 reading blogs, something I didn’t do before giving up television. So the net gain was about 550 hours.

2) I lived a safer life. Falling flatscreens kill, you know.

3) I should have lost some weight. Obesity has been proven to be directly proportional to the hours of television someone watches. In fact, I am hovering at approximately the same weight as at the end of 2009.

4) I missed out on the Lost finale, fifteen Survivor finales, 727 Italian dives during the World Cup, and a host of other reality shows too ridiculous to mention.

5) I have no idea what ended up happening to poor Conan, or whether or not Paula Abdul still hosts American Idol.

Lots of folks have been asking, What now? Are you going to watch television in 2011?

I am.

Maile’s not convinced. But I’m definitely roping her into my trek through all 17 seasons of Lost, starting the night of January 1st. That is, if Bryan is still willing to let me borrow them.

So help me ease my way back into the world of the boob tube: what television events or programs will you be sure not to miss in 2011?

My daughter Lucy was whisked away by her mother to a birthday party at her friend’s house. Birthday parties often seem tailor-made for that age: when you’re six years old, and still kind of believe in Santa, and still think dressing up as a princess or a knight is the only proper way to attend a party.

And of course, under Lucy’s arm: the obligatory gift. Humans may make grave errors, and generally behave like savages, but we still understand how important it is to celebrate a birthday. The celebration of existence.

* * * * *

I didn’t attend the party, having taken on the care of our other three children. But I didn’t have to be there to know, generally, how it went. I’m sure there was lots of loud chattering. Some anticipation as the gifts were opened. Sugar pulsing through little veins as chocolate cake and ice cream are consumed. Petty arguments and the sown seeds of some later, dear friendships.

But I can guarantee you one thing that didn’t happen.

I guarantee that when the guests arrived, they didn’t start handing gifts to each other to open. They didn’t leave the birthday-girl sitting at the head of the table empty-handed. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the birthday girl opened all the gifts, and the other little girls were excited to watch.

* * * * *

Christmas. Whose birthday is it anyway? I know it’s not mine, or my kids, or my extended family’s, but then why do we get all the gifts?

And if I arrive at a great Christmas party, either in my own living room or some other place, and I wanted to give a gift to the birthday boy, how could I even do that?

“For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me.’

“Then these righteous ones will reply, ‘Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you? Or thirsty and give you something to drink? Or a stranger and show you hospitality? Or naked and give you clothing?  When did we ever see you sick or in prison, and visit you?’

And the King will tell them, ‘I assure you, when you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!’

* * * * *

Oh.

* * * * *

Enjoy your Christmas. Have a great time eating and exchanging gifts. But don’t forget whose birthday Christmas celebrates. And perhaps, if you want to give a gift to the birthday boy, you might think about

feeding the hungry.

clothing the naked.

showing someone hospitality.

visiting someone in prison.

* * * * *

A Franciscan Benediction:

May God bless you with discomfort,
at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships,
so that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger,
at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people,
so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

My God bless you with tears,
to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war,
so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their
pain to joy.

And may God bless you with enough foolishness,
to believe that you can make a difference in this world,
so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.

Amen.

* * * * *

Disclaimer #1 – to all of you who protest, “But my birthday is December 25th!”…Happy birthday. I think you can still get my point.

Disclaimer #2 – I stole the title “It’s Not Your Birthday” from Ginghamsburg United Methodist Church in Troy, OH. My theft is yet another example of the depravity of human beings.

New Year’s Day in Wendover, England. A mist covered everything but the uppermost green of the hills, turning every ridge into a series of islands to be explored, or sailed past. Our second floor cottage window was just high enough to see out over the fog. Most of the hedges were submerged.

It was a new year, and we were feeling rather adrift.

A fire roared in the living room stove, heating up the radiators so hot that we had to open the windows and let in some of the cold winter air. Woodsmoke escaped the chimney then settled around the house, combining with the mist. The house was a suitable fortress.

But at the prearranged time we donned our coats and boots and walked, hand in hand, down the lane through the fog. The winter sun rose above the mist, the submerged hedges, the line of trees, the island-hills, and began burning off the haze. Just as the fog was disappearing we arrived at the top of the pasture beside our house.

Our landlords stood there, waved us over. J wore knee-high Wellington boots and a smart hunting jacket. V was less formal, but just as formidable, as she cracked her shotgun in half and stuffed in two shells.

“Ever shoot before?” she asked.

Maile and I both shook our heads, no.

She motioned for us to move around behind her. The fog was lifting. Stanley the gardener dropped two florescent orange clay pigeons into a small contraption.

“Pull!” V shouted.

The two targets eased into the morning air, forming an arc through the mist. Then

Boom!

Pause

Boom!

Both targets exploded in mid-air, showering the field with small fragments.

“Well done!” J shouted. V smiled.

* * * * *

Another day, another gathering. Eventually 15-20 of J and V’s children and their friends arrived, all in various stages of recovery from the previous night’s revelry in London. Some winced at the firing of the guns. Others grinned. A small competition was organized.

I did not win.

* * * * *

The shooting went on for most of the day. Then a light lunch, then more competitions. The ever dutiful Stanley towed more and more clay pigeons to the field. When he was finally convinced to take a turn of his own, he blasted both targets before they reached their apex. All eyebrows rose, and a smattering of applause sounded out across the valley.

Finally, dinner. Warmth. The large round kitchen table was surrounded by faces flushed from the heat of the stove and the fire warming the entire house from the formal living room. Shots, good and bad, were revisited over steaming curry and lamb and potatoes. The winner, whose identity escapes me, was expected to stand during one of J’s not so short presentation speeches. It drew many laughs and toasts. The winner was also expected to give a short acceptance speech amidst the clinking of champagne glasses.

Clearly, once again, we had landed square in the middle of close friendships, traditions that went on before and after us. These were roommates, childhood buddies, young people who had left the nest to chase something, yet still returned for every New Year’s Day clay pigeon shoot: a pilgrimage of sorts. And, somehow, they made us feel at home.

We walked home that night, shoulders sore from the recoil. But it was a good soreness: the kind that comes from encountering new things.

* * * * *

To read the first installment of England Stories, click HERE

I first heard about Dan and Julie Clark when they were working with orphans in Russia through Children’s Hopechest. During one of their visits to our small town in Virginia, Julie joined a group of our friends and us for dinner. The next morning I had breakfast with Dan and Dan (different friend, same name).

They are the type of people I think of as friends, even though we’ve probably never spent more than a few hours together. They are good friends of some of our best friends, so that always carries some weight. They care about things that we care about. They are passionate about living out their faith in practical ways: by helping the poor and the marginalized in the world.

So we are friends, even though they may not recognize me if we passed each other in the street…

In the years since I last saw them, they’ve started a non-profit called Doma, which “exists to embrace and empower vulnerable women and children whose homes and lives have been filled with anger, abuse, hostility, pain, and injustice. We believe that communities can be restored and rebuilt.” Their work is done both abroad and within the US.

So, the reason for my blog today…

They’ve recently been given this amazing opportunity – every penny they raise in donations between now and the end of the year will be doubled, up to $27,000.

If you’re drawn to the fight against human trafficking, or if you’d like to help them “embrace and empower vulnerable women,” now is the time to act. It’s Christmas – a flat screen television would be nice. A new game system or expensive piece of jewelry would be a lot of fun. But how about, this Christmas, you help someone get a fresh start? You’re money might be just what is needed to tip the balance in someone’s life.

Check out the blog post about the matching grant challenge HERE

Check out Doma’s website HERE

Check out a powerful story about some of the women that they help, HERE

To have a Merry Christmas, click HERE.

Kidding.