The Hands Of Christmas

 

I woke one bright December morn'

Pulled on my socks and sweater warm,

Jumped out of bed and felt it there— 

A new excitement in the air!

Tap, tap, tapping her refrain

Upon my frosted windowpane,

Hope had come to visit me,

Hope in all her finery,

And I could hardly wait to see

The presents that she brought!

 

On I went about my day,

Spreading smiles along my way,

For hope had left a good supply

For me to use and multiply,

The perfect gift, there is no doubt,

Urging other smiles to sprout,

Like friendship cake, it won't run out,

If we take time to share it.

 

As we pull on our sweaters warm,

And count our blessings every morn,

Let's be the hands of hope for those

Whose hearts are weighted down with woes,

With open arms, we'll heed hope's call

Then, Happy Christmas, one and all,

"Peace on earth, Good will to men,

For Christ is born each day again."

 

"I remember everything" - John Prine

I may not remember everything,

But, I still enjoy some good 'time travel' moments, especially on gray days:

Ah, memory, my elusive friend; where have you skipped off to—

Are you back in a tiny home,

By a riverfront, alive with life,

Where excitement tapped on your window,

And brought you an invitation

To a day filled with possibilities?

 

Are you visiting with dad,

On a sparkling Winter morning,

Watching him don his awesome speed skates,

Then heading out to fly!

Our own Hans Brinker,

Taking a break from

Supporting his family;

The sun greeting him,

The cold breeze bringing  tears to his eyes;

With fresh snow falling around him,

A sense of freedom warming his heart,

Across the ice he speeds,

Keeping  a rhythmic pace,

Left arm tucked behind his back,

A huge smile lighting up his face!

 

Watching as that feeling of peace overtakes him,

Are you too, flying along

Over the ice-covered river?

Have you noticed that you are not alone—

That a little child has been following you,

Trying to catch up,

Moving closer, with every magical stride,

Tapping you on the shoulder,

Inviting you to reach your arm back,

To take his hand—

Your inner child

Only waits for you to

drop your heavy shoes,

don your skates,

To join him, and to fly!

 This poem speaks to my nostalgic longing to step into a meadow of childhood hope once more:

Back To The Meadow

 Oh, how I miss those childhood days,

Where oft on lazy summer days,

I wandered through the colours,

Picking daisies as I passed,

Counting petals, one by one,

The last one sighing, "We are done—

He loves me not, alas!"

 

Meet me in the meadow,

Where the nodding daisies dance,

Where the butterflies and buzzing bees,

Dodge around the watchful trees,

Soaring now above the tips

Of those snow-white landing strips,

Endowed with elegance;

 

Meet me in the meadow,

When the morning dew has past,

And all the flowers have been infused

With moisture dropped in rainbow hues;

When buttercups and clover sweet

Greet my touch and heed my feet,

That move along too fast;

 

Meet me in the meadow

And bring your cares along,

Let them come into perspective,

They are only an elective,

Let childhood joy replace your care,

Let nature's scents flow through your hair,

And healing memories be strong.

 

A memory gives us a chance to time travel!  How do you make a memory—a happening that touches the soul and stays?  We all have hurtful images from the past that can hang on and hold our hearts captive, robbing us of our potential to create joy, but warm memories, the best ones, happen when we are taken by surprise; they are able to stir a huge heartfelt laugh, or maybe a tear.  Memories grow stronger and more precious when they are shared—let's get busy and start building that time machine, with the cogs of our honest, humble foibles and in the beautiful gifts that lie within each of us.

                                                Love forgave, kindness smiled, and hope grew a precious memory.

 

The Gift

 

There are gifts that we give

To the ones that we love

That leave rare and indelible marks;

Little glimpses of something

That words can't explain,

Scripted in thoughts

That weave their refrain,

Playing time and again in our hearts;

 

There are moments we touch,

Without touching at all,

When we meet in our memory room;

When a smile meets a smile,

There is healing that happens;

We're reminded that hope

Lies within every challenge,

Within every gift still to come;

 

There are beautiful treasures

To gather and share,

Memories to make every day;

As we clear a place for them,

Let their roots grow,

Their buds are just waiting

For someone to say,

"Can your happy memories come out and play?"

 

 

Fathers and mothers, and all of us are being tested these days as never before, to be a comfort and guide to our children and vulnerable ones, but sometimes, we are the ones who need comfort.   Whether we cry in frustration, fear, sorrow, or whether we are lucky enough to receive the gift of a wonderful tear-inducing belly laugh, It is ok for us to open our release valve and to cry;   It takes courage to admit our needs — and there is great healing strength in tears. 

A Father's Strength

I watched my mother cry at times,

And we hugged, and shared the pain,

But who can fathers turn to

When they're bent hard with life's strain?

 

To keep his tears from softening

The armour he maintained,

He bottled up his hurt and wrapped

His wounds in cellophane;

There they stayed, there they made

A load that grew in size,

Until he knew, just one more hurt

Would cause him to  capsize;

 

And now it came, another loss,

Another weight to bear;

A sigh at first,

The dam then burst,

No longer did he care;

No longer could he be a rock,

A  hero, strong and tough —

He felt the hammer hit the stone,

It broke to pebbles rough;

 

Unwrapped and laid bare by the flood,

His tears completely spent,

He gathered up his courage,

His armour, now all bent,

And began to build another wall,

To keep his courage safe —

A shelter for his weathered heart,

His washed and bandaged faith.

 

We tend to think that men can cope,

No emotional displays,

But, the weight of the world

Is too heavy a load

For any one person to carry alone,

And the wisest words you could ever say

Are in the tears that we share today.

 

Michelangelo's inspired sculpture of the Pieta, the beautiful, poignant depiction of Mary, holding Jesus' body after the crucifixion, has much to say to us all in these difficult days.  The world unleashed all of the worst that it was capable of against her Son; He took it all, and forgave it all; it had no power to defeat His spirit, the embodiment of love.  His mother endured every ounce of pain with Him and now holds her Son, alive forever.

 For all mothers and nurturers, struggling to be strong for their families, I offer the following:

 

I don't think I can handle this,

I feel as though I'll break;

I've thrown my hands up in despair,

How much can my heart can take!

 

I'm not a superhero,

I'm a mother, hanging on,

Drawing on my fragile faith,

And trying to stay strong;

 

In the midst of this heart's struggle,

The voice of hope pushed past,

Whispering encouragement,

'Hold on, this too shall pass.'

 

'I know what you are going through,

That fear, I've known it too;

I've watched my loved one hurting,

Felt helplessness, like you;

 

Take courage, joy will follow,  

And sorrow will pass by,

For love, once born,

Will be tested and torn,

But it can never die.'

A Mother's Blessing

My prayer is in

These mother's arms

That enfold my family 'round;

My prayer is in

These tears I cry

When problems get me down;

When they press

To hold me under,

I will lift my eyes

To Thine,

And pray, with all

That I possess,

That You will hear,

And You will bless

This family of mine.

 

Be Kind

I rose from sleep,

And there it came,

To stop my breath

To squelch my flame,

"You are unworthy,

Yours the blame,

You cannot hope

To win life's game"

But, deep inside,

I heard the words,

Encouraging,

"Be kind, Be kind"

 

How hard it is

To seek and find    

The path that leads

To peace of mind;

To heed the voice

That climbs the slope,

Carrying the seeds of hope,

To light our path,

 to conquer doubt,

The way is clear,

Its voice rings out,

"Be kind, be kind",

 

Pride will entice,

And ego take,

Crushing spirits

In their wake;

Their heavy shoes

Will weigh us down,

Direct our gaze

Inward and down;

Love stops cold

That toxic wheel; 

Walk together

And we'll heal,

Arm in arm,

In kindness, building hope;

 

Be humble in our giving,

Humble in receiving,

Take pride in our gratitude,

Take pride in each kindness,

Take pride in every act of respect,

Take pride in acknowledging

That we are all children of the same family,

Sharing the playground together.

 

A Humble, Silent Prayer, and a Sincere Smile -

The most powerful forms of communication

When we drop to our knees
And let it all go,
Open our hearts
And let the tears flow,
Deep in our souls,
Someone listens and knows;
 
Prayer is like a rescue ship,
A boat that's waiting, moored;
When fears are overwhelming,
 When those I love are threatened,
 In quiet desperation,
I take a step aboard;
 
My Companion bids me welcome
As He reaches out His hand;
He tells me He has heard my plea,
And that He understands;
There are miracles in progress,
Things we cannot know,
But when we call out from our hearts,
There's no way that He'd say, 'no';
 
When we make the choice to push off
From our comfortable, safe shore,
When we risk being surrounded
By fears we can't ignore,
By dark waters of rejection,
Of doubts that make us question,
He reminds us that we're gifted
With a life preserving smile;
 
That when tossed with firm resolve,
To lift another from despair,
Becomes the echo of His answer,
The hope that follows prayer;
For the giver and receiver,
Both are pulled into His craft,
To rest until the waters calm,
Until the storm is past;
 
No smile left behind.