Advent musing

If was I really, really smart, then I would have deliberately journeyed through a proper Advent exercise. Which I failed to do again, this year (thank goodness that God is so gracious and forgiving!).
However, on the cusp of yet another Christmas Day, there is a mix of feelings about it. I think (though it's a completely artificial separation) that there are separate feelings between the secular and the sacred this time around. Certainly, due to the circumstances, the secular has taken particular predominance over the past two weeks, and though there has been much merit - in anticipation, in joy and contentment there, it makes me wonder how that has (or has not) transferred over to the sacred side of things.
Do I look with wonder and anticipation of the birth of Christ? Am I joyful and content at His promised coming? Am I more concerned about the gatherings, and the family, and the food, than I am over our humble, bastardized, refugee Arab Christ-King? Even now, would I know Him? Would I recognize Him in His lowly estate and bow to worship Him? Would I even obey the angel to hasten to the manger? Would I even want to muddy my party shoes to step inside to look at the Babe?
I think some of these questions probe at deeper aspects of my faith and devotion. What, exactly, am I devoted to? Am I devoted to the holiday? To the idea of the holiday? (For we know, of course, that Jesus was more likely born in the springtime, and that December 25th is simply a Roman machination to stamp out pagan festivals) How does one measure the amount of ardour and devotion to the Christ-King if one is not particularly interested in Christmas? Should I even be interested or concerned about the supposed sacred aspects of Christmas at all?
I'm not sure. Indeed, I love the dark, crisp nights, the hot chocolate, the eating together, the carols, the lights - the whole shebang. However, it makes me question how much I love the reason for the season, rather than the season itself...

Needing a good editor...

What is one of the interesting mental tug-of-wars that I have with myself is the meta-meaning of narrative. (Yup, that's the kind of stuff I think about). What I mean is this: In the work that I do, evidence, science, data - these are the things by which decision trees, management guidelines and the like are created. Clinically, in many ways, it doesn't matter about the 'lived experience' as much as the 5-yr survival curve, the PPV, the percentages of side effects, the timeline of prognosis. All very numeric, qualitative and statistically significant.
Not to say it's not important: It is. It's critically important in making key decisions and deciding how to proceed with disease management.
However, the other end of the spectrum is how personally important the post-modern sense of narrative is to draw meaning. Our bodies may be made of amino acids and molecules, but our lives are constructed of stories. And stories hold great power in describing meaning.
At any rate, it basically comes down to: stories are how our lives are made. Stories are how we transmit who we are to others. That amazes me, really. It amazes me in considering how, in many ways, it is the stories that are the critical touchstones to help decision making.
I think I'm blathering a bit, but it is still quite something... this is definitely not well-written as a story, that's for sure...

Sounding the foghorn through the gloom....

Still here, but still foggy, so haven't had much to think about or say. Will try to be interesting soon.