Part of our Fellowship’s zoom candle light carols night, this was our fam’s medley of old carols and new harmonies improvised; wishing you a blessed day today and always; may the Lord of Light, Peace, Joy & true Love fill your days with His Song, all of now and the days to follow, stay precious!
Month: Dec 2020
I got one of the dearest surprise Christmas presents I’ve ever received: Lil Marijs! – a baby sheep in soft fur, oh the child in me came out to play. Marijs, from a literal far away country, is a gift from a generous hearted person who did not let a deadly viral stop her – am surprised silly how her Lil Marijs makes me unselfconscious dizzy happy.
I’ve always fussed over our childrens’ toys- their soft long ears and tails. Yesterday our second daughter tells me lovingly that I didn’t need to talk to her via Elle her elephant, or insist she puts socks back in via Turta, or make Purple(bear) remind her about her bed covers…I ask her why I’m this way, she says, “Ma, because you’re still a child…”
I loved the way those words settled in my ears; the way they pulled at my opinionated bones to rise and shine. How was I to know that today at 5pm there’d be a delivery of Marijs: a Reminder to regroup my inners.
Marijs‘ cross border Arrival @ a time of teeth chattering International misery is a thing to ponder at. Don’t tell me its just a child’s toy: this things Delivery is of the kingdom of the God of Impossibilities. Here one is Shepherded into a Place reserved for those who dare to be baffled
yeah, stare at how we could stare at where Joy and Peace and Mercy and Purity kiss each other,
touch the impossibly melting softness of human kindness, this quality that did NOT birth off the devil who destroys, accuses, lies,steals,kills…hates.
This quality births off the gentle lowly Manger, where Love came down soft one tender night: a Surprise Visitor that still loves like none I know can….
Marij is a 2020 Reminder of Him and how He moves us to Gift each other this Giving, of everything opposed to evil, of everything born of God, in the humility of a manger,
The Hush of That grabs me by the jaw and asks me to lay off grown up protocol. This is a time to peer through the dark glass and see
That the Giver of Gifts isn’t dead; He has mysterious ways of reviving our real selves no matter the viral forecast.
We are born with the constant hunger for reality; shut your eyes, feel that pulse, it was there when we took our first breath and walk and words. But we gave ourselves permit to retire into Doubt; Faith Hope & Love were for the ladies in the prayer circle who knitted socks for babies of refugees. Not Us. We were grown ups with toothpicks in our brain just in case we bit back into old ways. Faith was for Medieval mystics. Not for the Renaiisanced. We walked the Moon, we fed graves, we became the Machine that fed the beast in us. An earth that cud chewed Itself, ouch. That bunch of words hurts to just write it. Or read it.
Marijs makes me want to stare at the possibility of being free of doubt that all will be well, and that there will be peace on earth,
stare at the act of prayer that began me as a child; I prayed for Dan the tall boy with a hole in his heart, and he went on like Deep, the paraplegic 30 yearold who took me for rides in his chair he drove like a maniac: Dan & Deep had the manners of people who knew who they were and where they were headed, it was to God. These were real people who impacted me much as a child. Dan left me a book of Bible verses he cut from Calenders. Deep gave me a box of Legos I loved and gave to a tiny boy called Deepak – he had a pony fringe and worried eyes but when he smiled he grinned 360 degrees.
All this I revisited after Marijs came home to me a few hours ago from a country across my Northern border and am staring at how the Gift of Giving can provoke, promote Life: the kind that makes us kind in the purest sense.
We are all bells aren’t we? Every Lil whisper and word or sigh or silence saying so many things : good tidings or not, invites to this and that, to talk, or sing. We are all carols aren’t we? Tellers of stories and state; we choose the rhymes, the way with words, we are messengers of Peace, or of other things.
Hidden, in His quiver, you thought you were forgotten. You’re there for that one choice moment, polished chosen arrow;
time & tide sifted, ground, broke you – seasoned your edge- today you think you live in the shadow of others; ha, know this, you are one set apart,
…for a Time such as this, for a day in a thousand, for a task you alone can do. He knows you by name, you are Designer-ware, made for specificity. You are needed, blest, crucial important, you mayn’t see it Lil arrow,
you are deadly to the foe, deadly to the very thing trying to destroy you. It is time to go out, fearless. You are a force to reckon with, a Season all your own. Go on polished arrow, fly in His skies, shine!
Something that began in a dawn:
…before the day lends you her voice, sing in the silent beams of dawn, lean yourself on the face of light as it breaks the dark,
oh burrow your heart in true Light’s ceaseless pressure, shifting shade, pulsing throbbing warming cold cold night.
Pray in His heart, yeah the ‘oceans rage and the peoples imagine a vain thing’, as clay returns to clay and dust to dust,
Hush in the hour as Dawn begins
hide in the Arms of Prayer, hold It against your soul: here no greed for power, no need for self arrest your heart: here oh here, begin,
where no foot of pride hides in prophecies of doom, where no angel weeps but for the joy of Heaven, and no anthem of ‘self’ rules-
ach! None but His:
here, before it is too late, pray my soul in His heart.
Lift your eyes to the sills of heaven, watch what happens when you pray. When the heart stills its noise and the mind rests with the pulse of God. How often I have not done that, amazes! The power of disbelief stuns me, its incredible power to hold us back from the greatest power ever given to humanity: the ability to talk to God.
2021 years down, we still seek and find Him in places stripped of material thrones. 2021 years, wisemen still seek the Christ and find Him.
Did not have one nice thing to say on my blog and then I see this Beauty from Instagrammer Louise_ness whose lens capture of blossom in hedge and porcelain made me want to post some! She is gracious. I say Thankyou thinking of her silver birch wreath ’round papier mâché deer, and get a hearted reply,
sure there are people that are kind to strangers, but after a year of dodging viruses in waves, oh sanitising each other to insane levels, I’m blessed to look at Louise_ness’s last roses of summer,
and am suddenly startled by Grace.
Her deer is made from trees (paper), the roses, foliage like frosted dew crystallising everyday colors and yes, it makes me want to cry for beauty we know we have if we will tolerate each others’ Lil spaces in our spaces, like Louise_ness’s visiting spider who she let be in the picture without destroying him. Aye, Grace.
Another friend and I got chatting today. One hour down the conversation, we agree that the greatest gift humans could give each other is Mercy: another word drenched in attributes we all know we must know and give and be.
Mercy & Grace. Two words our news men maynt have thought of much as they reeled out reports of this & that, this year: two words that sit in my ears tonight, like earrings too expensive to not be heavy. Grace, Mercy. Just to think on, feels heavy. Mercy for those who need it, and need it bad, or probably do not deserve it, thats Grace.
Where’s this Post going? What is December going to be like?
Will Mona Mayi dish out Christmas catering like they always did? Will we all major on Christmas/ new year ensembles, will we host another papier star? Will Susa the Physician call in all her colleagues and street vendors to high tea in her villa with mango trees lit up like Christmas evergreens ? Will everyone have rice and gravy, blankets and candy, @Christmas party- give aways to footpath people off St.Marks’?
It hurts to ask some questions : but I’m thinking how Grace looks on any given day, or Mercy.
Another 31 days and 2021 will be here, with all her engines gunning for the next 365!
This December I’m praying we will give each other space to be accepted and loved as Christ of Christmas did. Uncle Chandu hated that word Christmas. Said it wasn’t in the Bible. No one disputed that, they just ignored his mutters and gave him a good new dhoti and colorful shirt. By Christmas eve he was a melting pot of love and the Nativity, too.
Look at Grace long enough, and there will be the scents of summer all through anything ahead. There will be acts of mercy, and they will wreath your front door with colors like stashed sunlight for cold hearts. After all is said and done, and we are bone weary for trying to make peace not war, we perhaps can rest in the fact that we are loved by the God of Grace, ay e’en be startled by the Grace of God.