Merry Christmas

Jesus.  

He came.  He is coming.

He is here.

Wishing you, dear friends, life and love and laughter, peace and joy and hope, the fullness of knowing God in spirit, and every good gift given through His Son--The Word made flesh--that you may live in the abundance, the overflow of His love for you.

Merry Christmas, and a blessed new year!

“Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall call His name Immanuel. "   ~ Isaiah 7:14 (NKJV)

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Minimalist Photography / Steve Johnson

Family and Feathered Friends

The birds are eating and singing again...

We surprised my dad with a family dinner to celebrate his post-retirement retirement.  Actually, I can't imagine my dad ever not working in some way or another.  He was born a builder, a maker, a creator...like Father like son.  His sense of adventure and commitment to making dreams happen make me proud.  I can hardly wait to see what's next for him and Mom.

Like birds, we gathered from all directions in the snow, all but the two youngest grand-girls--one working late and the other at a track meet--in a beautifully decorated golf club which sits quaintly atop rolling Western Pennsylvanian hills, peeking over and hiding under the cover of snow laden greens.

He thought he was coming for a birthday for my son-in-law, and discovered instead a Christmasy, candle-lit dinner with ones who love, and a burnt almond torte for dessert. (In this case, burnt is a good thing!)  We gorged on delicious food and conversation, some sipping wine and others coffee, all admiring the beauty of each other. 

When we couldn't eat another bite, baby-sister from mid-state New York brought out small, prettily wrapped gifts for just mom and us girls.  I opened mine first--there were four all the same--a small red cardinal dusted with shimmer, ready to perch royal on a Christmas tree branch.

I looked teary at my sister and saw between us another guest smiling, one you wouldn't know was there unless you were looking with the heart.  My grandmother had a love affair with birds--the Cardinal was her favorite.  We have a pair living in the shrub at the corner of our house, and every time I see them I think of her.

More messages from heaven.  We hugged and soaked in the love.

I thought thanks for my heritage--not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but--redeemed by love.  Yes, we are loved, and learning to love--all of us, from the oldest to the youngest.  I looked around and saw not just my grandmother, but the One who first loved. Emmanuel was with us, in us, singing over us--even those who were there only in thought, or in the shape of an eye, the form of a cheek-bone, the sound of a laugh.

The birds came hungry, and left satisfied, hearts full and spirits nourished...and my parents drove away dreaming about what they would do come Monday morning.

On this day of grace, I thank Father for...

161.  my dear parents and their inspiration to keep on keeping on
162.  family, each one carrying a piece of the ones and the One who came before
163.  heavenly pine and rich, red velvet and soft candle flickers
164.  piano tones smoothing pretty
165.  crab cakes and black'n'blue steak and buttermilk chicken with garlic mashed
166.  burnt almond torte (Yummm)
167.  the brilliant red of cardinals, gifts
168.  hugs and smiles and pictures taken squished
169.  cold, snowy air
170.  moonlight bouncing off the greens
171.  connecting small as parts of a huge and heavenly puzzle
172.  a nephew growing a foot since I saw him last
173.  laughing hysterics as we watch Elf all strewn around the room
174.  for the girls: green tea w/honey; and the boys: frosty Duquesne Pilseners (the male version of warming up)
175.  all is calm.  all is bright.  all is peaceful this frosty night.


Today I join Ann Voskamp and the community of gratitude-givers in appreciating God's graces.  Click on the button below to read other grace lists....



I am also linking with  L.L. Barkat and other ready writers who share their stories of place at Seedlings in Stone.   Please join us!

 Click to read more about my Journey of Gratitude.

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - kansasphoto

Prayer

Prayer

Prayer, the Church's banquet, Angels' age, God's breath in man returning to his birth, The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage, The Christian plummet, sounding heav'n and earth;

Engine against th' Almighty, sinner's tower, Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear, The six days world-transposing in an hour, A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear;

Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss, Exalted manna, gladness of the best, Heaven in ordinary, man well dressed, The Milky Way, the Bird of Paradise;

Church-bells beyond the stars heard, the soul's blood, The land of spices, something understood.

~George Herbert (1593-1633)

I like to think of prayer as singing in tune with the voice of God.  I believe my entire life has been given to intercession and song, in one way or another.  By His grace I am still learning to listen to His notes and sound The Holy.

In a similar way, George Herbert, a Welsh poet, orator, Anglican priest and according to a friend, a most glorious saint and seer, describes his poems as "pictures of spiritual conflict between my soul and God before I could subject my will to Jesus, my Master." (1)

In the hearts of all who linger here let there be "softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss!"

And at every corner may you discover the ringing of laughter, the sounds of "gladness of the best."

Blessings in this joyous season.

Melissa

(1) Maycock A L, Nicholas Ferrar of Little Gidding,SPCK,London 1938

Photo Courtesy: flickr - xlibber

Silent Night

Silent Night

She drew the bow through amber wax and rubbed the strings up and back, over the curve of callused wood where ivory skin and chin relaxed, pressed firm the tail to shoulder graceful.

I saw Mother's eyes flash fiery flecks, reflect the flames of fire that leapt high from the hearth with woody sap snapping loud behind us; and then she closed them, dark lashes fanning crests over milky cheeks tilted low, with the smooth of her hair escaping in auburn tress, and she becoming one with her music.

Buttery strains shushed the dark as slender hands fiddled Silent Night with a soothing legato, soft as a baby's hush-a-bye, resonating fifths and lilting lifts, notes curling warm and floating to rest lush like our bed of downy goose-feathers, and us on our knees at the foot to bless Jesus.

Like flakes we drifted dazed in the lull, adoring, our eyes--four little-boy brown and my girlish blue--hung bright like stars on strings as we beheld their beauty, she smiling honey, and he dazzling, strong, leaning together, our breath caught and held forever in their love song.

Dad started first with smooth Irish tenor, and Mother joined dulcet in cheery, rich alto.  The two became one as they harmonized holy an ancient story--words dripping heaven shine, golden alms for the poor--God's Son born in a manger, a mother's gift given for all mankind, for love and light and peace and laughter. 

And chills ran wild along my skin, and tears lay bitter-sweet on cheeks again waiting for Mother-lips to wipe them clean.  And long the years of lonely after she passed, and long the waiting for another glimpse of song or bow or smile or touch, and only in the remembering...

All was calm.  All was bright.  All was good that Christmas night when Dad and dear Mother sang carols joyous to their wee ones. The boys and I, we huddled close and dozed, wrapped warm in soothing melody, before we lay our heads on downy soft, all three tucked tight with hugs and prayers and dreams of hope to lead us.

I wrote this in honor of my great-grandmother, who I never had the honor of meeting.  She died with cancer when my grandmother was just a young teen.  What she wasn't able to instill personally, she left in rich deposits of love and spirit--her violin just a symbol of her songs and prayers and warm, mothering legacy.

Offered at One Stop Poetry's, Mistletoe and Minstrels challenge.

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Luz A. Villa

December White

December White

White the moonlit hills, all glowing, flowing silk and satin, evening-gowned and crowned in icy baubles sparkling, sparkling clear the frigid night, reflecting hosts--star-glimmer globes-- dancing, prancing round the slippery slopes all shimmer, shimmering shadow light,

And white the powder sprays iridescent across the beams; she whirls and twirls on single silver blades a scribbling, swirling swirl of glassy sea, her cheeks pinched pink with cold and curling, curling round a dulcet smile like twin apples ready to be kissed, 

And white the flakes, so soft and fat, feathery, frosty, cold and wet, each crystal pattern fashioned, formed unique, falling, falling, lolling holy in their hush, and hovering, covering the earth with a blanket of heavenly beauty,

And white the pure, sweet joy, come bouncing loud on evening chill, shouting, spouting, flouncing far 'long distant hills; shake and shatter, treetops scatter, sending icicles crashing spatter, shards of splintering shrill

And white the breath that circles round a scratching, dashing, dancing blur, a frozen stir of vapor crowning, shrouding, wafting slow as pirouette ends abruptly, and happy laughter glazed in snow skates away zig-zag-zagging to warm aglow oe'r red-mittened hands by the fire.

This poem was inspired by the music of George Winston in a video entitled, December (click to listen), and offered for Moondustwriter's Thursday Music Poetry Prompt at One Stop Poetry.

I am also submitting this for the last One Shot Wednesday in 2010.

Have a blessed Christmas everyone!

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Candida.Performa

A Winter Ride

A Winter Ride
by Amy Lowell (1874-1925)


Who shall declare the joy of the running!

Who shall tell of the pleasures of flight!

Springing and spurning the tufts of wild heather,

Sweeping, wide-winged, through the blue dome of light.

Everything mortal has moments immortal,

Swift and God-gifted, immeasurably bright.

So with the stretch of the white road before me,

Shining snow crystals rainbowed by the sun,

Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows,

Strong with the strength of my horse as we run.

Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight!

Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.

This is one of my favorite winter poems.  It makes me give thanks for love and life and the ability we have to enjoy the world around us, the snow, the cold, the warm laughter of friend and family, the sense of flying across the ground and lifting off into God-realms.  However you travel today, please take time to enjoy the ride!

Photo Courtesy:  flickr - Peter J. Markham, Loretto, MN

Blinded

Blinded

Why is it that when I beg to see your face I find myself the most afraid, shivering cold and alone in achromatic black, unable to breathe, unable to think or speak your name because all around thick unknown overwhelms, and I feel icy the rivulet of sweat run slow down the middle of my back?

Why is it that before you appear dream-like, I drift off to rest by the side of the way, wait paralyzed in slumber, and only then You surge bold over dark mounds, rush my face with blinding shafts, and I realize I cannot see because my eyes are plastered shut by glory?

And why is it that when I wake, the glory fades distant into the heart of me, and the sky lends the same gray, and the sun no longer shines as bright as it used to?

Posting today for One Shot Wednesday.  Come join us?

Photo Credit:  flickr - orsorama