Invisibility is Not a Superpower Anymore

So, to acknowledge the complaints of my dearly beloved loyal readers, Yes, it's been a while since I've posted anything (you know, apart from the post from 2 minutes ago). I feel like the reasons have been two-fold: first, for at least a year's time, I had no time to write. I was busy dealing with crises in my own life (ex. my mom's illness and death) and then I was busy dealing with other people's crises, which I didn't write about and can't list, because they're not my stories to tell. My life story was not about me for that time; rather, it was about supporting other people in their life stories. Work was also very busy and involved a lot of sitting at a computer reading information and frantically typing up mostly tragic mini-stories all day, so the inclination to attempt creative or narrative-type writing at home was quite diminished. My second reason developed after that crisis-jumping year was over. I had a year of rest and simple social interactions where I worked at my stable, moderately meaningful, comfortable job; attended church activities; supported the performing arts with my attendance or someone else's; and practiced not burning or exploding new healthy food recipes I was trying out and serving to friends, family, or myself. This is where I sit now. Essentially, I have became Martha Stuart minus the criminal record. This afternoon, Dan and I finished serving our second large Easter dinner of the weekend at 6:00 pmish. We differed in our feelings of how successful this one was. After getting home from a Sunrise Easter Service 6:15am-7:30am and a morning Easter Service 9:30am-12:00, we worked like mad (while blessedly not feeling mad) preparing a roast lamb supper for Dan's parents, sister, aunt & uncle, grandmother, and cousin. We had it ready reasonably close to the time we claimed it would be, everyone agreed it was incredibly delicious food, and we went for a cheery walk through sunny Fish Creek Park before indulging in dessert. For the first time ever with Dan's family, there was absolutely no zombie-like t.v. watching involved, only conversation and enjoyment in our senses' perceptions. There was also no ham, happily. Dan saw it as a major success. I suppose I should also count my blessings and victories, but I mostly felt disappointed. Dan prayed over the food when I asked him to, and it was an improvement over past Christian holiday feasts with Dan's family where Dan's parents would prod Dan's younger sister Steph to chant, "God is good, God is great, thank you for this food." I don't want to be critical of other's prayers, it's just that I don't think they believe they're actually talking to God and it hurts me a little inside to see the Guest of Honour and Founder of the Feast treated like the mailman. "H & G: Hi and Goodbye" (Sleepless in Seattle). A friend was recently enraged and hurt when some of her birthday party guests left her with a $200 tab at the restaurant where they was celebrating. I think sometimes that's how Jesus must feel on Christmas (his birthday) and Easter (the anniversary of his torture, death, and resurrection) when half the people celebrating look right past him in their bedazzlement of the decorations, party favours, and food, and forget to even bring him a card. My goal this year was to not only eliminate celebration practices I find distasteful, but to replace them with meaningful traditions. Specifically, I wanted to read a piece of scripture from the story of the crucifixion or resurrection, to remind everyone WHY we're feasting. But somehow it got pushed aside in the bustle of food prep, and I had to force myself to smile and not swear out loud when Dan's father proudly announced that the Easter Bunny had visited their home again, while Dan's mom beamed and handed us each a cute gift bag of Easter candies. #%*!ing Easter Bunny. I know that giving us little tangible gifts is one of the ways they like to show us that they're thinking of us and love us. It's a very sweet (no pun intended, well, mostly not intended) act of kindness, and something my mom used to do frequently as well. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," my father liked to admonish when I was growing up. Sage advice. But to me, when they give us gifts we don't want it's also a sign they don't really know us. I'm a diabetic who doesn't really like candy apart from chocolate, and I think it's been many years since Dan really liked any kind of sweet. And today, especially today, I really didn't want our house to be a place celebrating the Easter Bunny. "The bunny, the bunny, whoa, I hate the bunny. I don't hate Dan's mom or his dad, just the bunny..." (Veggie Tales, slightly revised). And I feel I'm mostly to blame for the lack of attention drawn to Christ at Easter in our own home. I don't know how to talk to Dan's family about anything but the most shallow or practical things, and those tend to make for boring conversations so mostly I'm just quiet altogether around them. Then again, maybe it's not just with them that I pull on an invisibility cloak. We also invited my side of the family over for Easter dinner on Good Friday. Once again, we avoided zombie-like retreat to the t.v., everyone thought the food tasted great, and there was friendly conversation everywhere. I asked my Grandfather to pray, and he did, and his prayer was genuine and filled with thanks to God. But again I felt like a sell-out for not reading a piece of scripture first. I gave way to panic about people being hungry and irritable after supper was delayed for a cousin and her young children I had given an erroneous address to and whose desperate calls I had missed for over 45 minutes because I'd accidentally forgotten my phone in my car. In sum, I cared more about being "nice" than in being any sort of genuine light to the family members who have not given their hearts to God yet. I want to be more than nice. Niceness is a camouflage for the middle-class in "first-world" countries to appear gracious and kind and it seems to be what we use as evidence of goodness to justify our selfish extravagance on ourselves. I need a bigger dream for myself than eating tasty healthy food, showing up for endless church events, and filling time at a job that makes me look like a good person while I slowly die of boredom. Those are side dishes and I feel like I'm missing the garlic encrusted roast beast at my own Who-ville banquet of life. You can't be heard without saying something. You can't be seen unless you're present and standing in the light. I'm too old for Easter candy baskets and I'm too old to be hiding under the stairs when I want attention, miffed that no one has noticed I'm gone.