Merry Christmas from This Being Human....
During this time of year I am usually thinking of my father who was at this time, in 1944, being escorted through the gates of Stalag 1XB. But this year, perhaps due the emotional highs and lows (mostly lows) that I'm experiencing due to pending divorce, am thinking often of my mother.
A few years before my father passed away, when he was struggling through a day to day existence, (much like when he was a P.O.W.) my mother could see over the precipice. The days were growing short. The reality of finding herself without him mocked her like the jester of death pointing his bony finger signaling towards the grave.
I offered to walk to church with her on a dark and moonless night on Christmas Eve. Snow danced through the air trying to stay aloft fearing that once they touched solid ground they too would be no more. The children, at least those that were left in the ever dwindling congregation, marked the occasion with skits and song. At the evenings conclusion, the children passed out tangerines and candy canes and sent us on our way. On our walk home, I tried to speak to my mother about God. About grace, as I understood it. It was a very cerebral conversation on my part, hoping to elicit some dialog regarding life, death, suffering and God's love for mankind. For wasn't this what Christmas is all about?
Glad tidings? Peace on earth? A savior is born?
I wanted to talk about GOD.
My mother was a born and bred New England farm girl Baptist. Her spiritual thoughts consisted of getting up each and every day and making the most of it. Her emotional range was methodical, deliberate and well contained. Perhaps these were thoughts that parents did not share with their children. Perhaps these were thoughts that you only had on Sundays. I'll never know. But now days I think of her silently observing Christmas in her stoic and silent way. Singing hymns, cooking dinner, decorating the tree.
These days, I see an excitement in my granddaughter that thrills me. I do not recall me ever having that sort of excitement - ever! At Christmas, the song and feast, gifts and pageantry of it all, makes two slits of her eyes as her smile and looks of glee envelops her face.
I no longer need to talk of GOD.
I just watch her.
A few years before my father passed away, when he was struggling through a day to day existence, (much like when he was a P.O.W.) my mother could see over the precipice. The days were growing short. The reality of finding herself without him mocked her like the jester of death pointing his bony finger signaling towards the grave.
I offered to walk to church with her on a dark and moonless night on Christmas Eve. Snow danced through the air trying to stay aloft fearing that once they touched solid ground they too would be no more. The children, at least those that were left in the ever dwindling congregation, marked the occasion with skits and song. At the evenings conclusion, the children passed out tangerines and candy canes and sent us on our way. On our walk home, I tried to speak to my mother about God. About grace, as I understood it. It was a very cerebral conversation on my part, hoping to elicit some dialog regarding life, death, suffering and God's love for mankind. For wasn't this what Christmas is all about?
Glad tidings? Peace on earth? A savior is born?
I wanted to talk about GOD.
My mother was a born and bred New England farm girl Baptist. Her spiritual thoughts consisted of getting up each and every day and making the most of it. Her emotional range was methodical, deliberate and well contained. Perhaps these were thoughts that parents did not share with their children. Perhaps these were thoughts that you only had on Sundays. I'll never know. But now days I think of her silently observing Christmas in her stoic and silent way. Singing hymns, cooking dinner, decorating the tree.
These days, I see an excitement in my granddaughter that thrills me. I do not recall me ever having that sort of excitement - ever! At Christmas, the song and feast, gifts and pageantry of it all, makes two slits of her eyes as her smile and looks of glee envelops her face.
I no longer need to talk of GOD.
I just watch her.
Comments
And Merry Christmas to you. Thanks for being my virtual xiao di and correspondent over the past...year or more?
Watch a wonderful movie: I recommend Polar Express. Nothing Chinese tonight, just Tom Hanks and animation. No swordplay.
Mele Kalikimaka from Big Sis.
At the age of 29, I can't feel much about it because young roughness is still there but I only feel the magic word - 'Faith' that takes me out from all situations and imbibes a subtle purity in my mind. Hope, desperation, emotional low and loneliness; everything happens if we take this mutable garb of filthy flesh and bones but let the wind blow, the water flows but we need to hold fast the post of God, It is here, within me, within you, and even in the crawling creature that we sometimes pressed underneath our feet.
Lets this Christmas and New Year begin with the word "faith" and make ourselves strong, infinitely strength, infinite patience, infinite calmness and infinite compassion. Belated Christmas and a very happy and enlightening New Year. Peace.
If you ever want to get away for a while i live near The City of Ten Thousand Buddahs, the redwoods, quiet vineyards and SF is only 100 miles away..
much love,
BPO
Shubhajit - 23 going on 230! Faith is an oft misunderstood word. Define for me in detail how you can most clearly define the term. I have mine - would like to see yours.
Kathy - A very Happy New Year to you as well. Hus are AWAYS appreciated.
BPO - Wouldn't that be sweeet! I just may take you up on that!