A thousand words

This, my friends, is a portrait of Yours Truly as drawn by Number Five Nephew.  Actually, it might be a portrait of the two of us together, I'm not sure.  What I am sure of is that I love it... look how long my legs are! Apparently I'm also strong and agile, as the two of us might be doing one-armed lifts on a trapeze. Watch for us at the circus coming to a town near you.

The Other half

I've gone silent.

There is a military expression about silence that I can't remember exactly... operational silence, radio silence... ? Whatever. I have silence because my rational, communicative, aware brain isn't with me at the moment. It's gone underground.

This happens to me whenever I need to process something - a change, a decision, a brilliant insight. My introverted brain needs to deal with the data in seclusion and solitude, only sharing the result with the rest of my brain when it's good and ready to do so.  Sometimes that can take a long time.

Meanwhile I'm left out here wandering the world with half a brain. You know how people say, "I've half a mind to..."?  Well, that's what I'm operating with at the moment: half my mind.

I'm looking forward to the reunion.  I've sent out invitations, prepared nice activities for when we're together again, and made sure the place looks warm and welcoming to entice an early arrival. I'm worried that it's found a better home, one where it is fed fish oil, where a crossword puzzle a day keeps the Old Timer's away, and it isn't asked to recall inane lyrics of the 80s.

Has anyone seen my other half?

Third

It doesn't seem possible, and yet here it is: the third anniversary of my dad's death.

What a stark word that is... third.  The first year was bemusing and focused on carrying on.  The second year knocked the stuffing out of us and really was about coping and figuring out who we were without him.  This third year has been cruel in its undeniable reality... and yet consoling in showing us our life does continue, and it is good.  Life is good. It has been altered in a way I never would have chosen, and yet I can't overlook the fact that it is good.

I miss him every day, but I'm not sad every day.  I am crying right now because I was writing a card for my mom, who will shortly be returning home from her Christmas visit here in Sohoe. That's when the realization hit: three; third; real. I'm going to allow myself to feel sad today, but then it's time to get on with it again.  I want to have wonderful things to tell him when I see him again.

I know there are others who have lost loved ones recently.  It's not easy, especially at this time of year.  My heart goes out to you.

A previous post about grief

Hush

Christmas was green and I am content. It is a source of great satisfaction for those of us who have transplanted ourselves from more typically cold and blustery Canadian climes, to reach the end of December with only the meekest displays of winter.

Having reached the important milestone of a green grass Christmas day, I can now happily indulge in one of my favourite winter pass times: laying in bed in the small hours of the day, and watch lazy snowflakes drift past my window. At this point it is merely decorative, barely dusting the ground, instilling the feeling of warmth and well-being that comes from reading before an open fire, cozy sweaters, and hot cocoa.  Snow brings with it an intimacy in our homes as the outside world is slowed and hushed.

Peace on Earth, and good will to all men.

Read it

A friend introduced me to an interesting website called ThePulp.it .  They offer the wonderful service of gathering Catholic stories, news, and articles from across the internet twice a day.  They are "A digest of the best Catholic punditry in the Catholic blogosphere." There, you will find pieces pulled from the Catholic Register, Crisis Magazine, The Washington Post, The Globe and Mail, First Things, Time Magazine, and my own friend The Ordinary Catholic at Peter's Barque.

Be sure to add it to your bookmarks!

In Bethlehem a Child was born

In Bethlehem a Child was born and changed the world.  The birth of a child often does; any new parent will tell you so.  This particular birth though, has impacted history – severing it into two portions: that which came before, and everything that followed His arrival. He is the central point from which we measure our years and centuries.

He not only divided time, He broke through the fabric of matter by uniting Divinity and humanity. He ruptured the boundaries of life and death. He confounded logic by teaching truth in paradoxes: the last shall be first; to gain life you must lose it; blessed are the poor.

 “Let the little children come to me ... for the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matt. 19:14) 

Is it possible that we can be such a child as He was? In Christ, we are born to new life and through Him we may approach the Father as His children. Even in that simple, childish state, God can work through us. If we trust Him, and abandon ourselves to Him like a child, He will use our hands to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, bind up the lame; our words to console the broken hearted. The innocence and vulnerability of a child can bring the strength and power of God into the world.

At this time of year it may be easier to feel capable of reaching out, being generous; easier, too, to have loving and cheerful attitudes. If only we could preserve the benevolence and forbearance that abounds during these days of glad tidings for when we’re feeling stretched beyond our limit during the ordinary, tedious days of February or July. We could dip into our store of comfort and joy to find the wherewithal to be patient with the children, forgiving of our spouse, tolerant toward our colleagues, helpful to our neighbours. We could have peace on earth and goodwill to all men. I didn’t find any of that advertised in the holiday fliers. Where I do see it is in depictions of the Nativity. In Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and angels giving praise to God for the fulfillment of a prophecy:

For a child will be born to us... and his name will be Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6)

Christmas

Now, as the world is still silently slumbering, I wish for you all a deep and abiding joy this Christmas season. May you be blessed with contentment in your family, your work, your friends, and given the grace of generosity.  Share the love you have with others you meet today... what you share will be multiplied and given back to you a hundredfold.

Contemplate the wonder of a new born child. Let Him, in His innocence and vulnerability enter into your heart.

God bless you!  And happy Christmas.
Tess.

Nativity ~ Bloch

Unto us a child is born, a son is given; and His name shall be Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.~ Isaiah 9:6