I Will Always Be A child

Though I now live where there is never snow, I have very fond memories -- particularly as a child-- of waking up to new fallen snow. Barbara McAfee has a wonderful song about just that. Listen to it by clicking HERE.

Yes, I do miss the snow -- and especially the big flakes drifting down and how everything becomes quiet and beautiful. Even the rusted rake, the broken bench, the ordinary mailbox. Isn't it wonderful how nature gives us such gifts? May you be blessed in the coming year with lots of natural gifts and may you run towards them -- make a snow angel, go umbrellaless in the rain, let the wind blow your hair as you walk through the gifts that 2024 will surely bring.

December 26

This poem came across my desk today and it feels so appropriate.  This odd time between holidays and approaching the end of year feels a bit like “time out of time”.  And as the poet says, now our "irregular life begins again". May you use the waning days of the year wisely and prepare to step over yet another transom – into 2024. I invite you, as always, to think about a “Word of the Year”.  A word or an image that calls you to a clearer vision of yourself.  Some wish or purpose that can be a north star for you in the coming year.  In past years, I have used some of these words; patience, kindness, light-heartedness, peace, freedom.  It is more of an intention, not so much a “goal”, but a direction you’d like to tilt your sails toward.  Perhaps you can decorate the word in some way and place it somewhere that you will see it now and then…. And then you can ask yourself,  “am I following the path of ____________ today?”  Many blessings on endings and beginnings as our world keeps carrying us toward the light. 

The 26th Of December

A Tuesday, day of Tiw,

god of war, dawns in darkness.

The short holiday day of talking

by the fire,

floating on snowshoes among

ancient self-pollarded maples,

visiting, being visited, giving

a rain gauge, receiving red socks,

watching snow buntings nearly over

their heads in snow stab at spirtled bits

of sunflower seeds the chickadees

hold with their feet to a bough

and hack apart, scattering debris

like sloppy butchers, is over.

Irregular life begins. Telephone calls,

Google searches, evasive letters,

complicated arrangements, faxes,

second thoughts, consultations,

e-mails, solemnly given kisses.                 

- Galway Kinnell

Threshold Choir

I have recently joined a Threshold Choir here in my town.  Threshold Choirs were started many years ago by a woman, Kate Munger, who discovered the peace and calm of singing by the bedside of a person who was dying.  Thus began this worldwide movement of small local choirs that convene for the purpose of learning songs and singing at the bedside of people who are ill and dying.  It feels like  very holy work.  The songs are simple and short and are usually in three part harmony.  The singers learn a repertoire, and after learning it, go out in small groups of two or three to sing at the bedside – in a nursing home, hospital, private home, wherever they are called.  It is a short visit and a peaceful offering of accompaniment and grace to patients and to families.

Though I am, at this point, far from being ready to sing at someone’s bedside – I have begun to learn so much of the power of entering in quiet, sitting without talking, attending to the person, seeing what is appropriate and needed.  I also love the rehearsals where we have the opportunity to learn and sing these very beautiful, very simple songs.  They are always sung slowly, and with heart and there are often tears at the rehearsal as we all remember that we too will die, and that before then, there are many experiences of tenderness and difficulty that can be eased by a song.

Click HERE to hear a sample of the kind of songs that are sung by threshold choirs.

If you’d like to know more about Threshold Choirs and find out if there is one in your area,  click. HERE. 

May you find peace and ease in this month of feasting and celebration.  Here’s poem for you;

For Maia

by Gary Johnson

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye

Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,

And also the partridge in a pear tree

And the golden rings and the turtle doves.

In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue

Where the faithful live, some joyful, sometroubled,

Enduring the cold and also the flu,

Taking the garbage out and keeping thesidewalk shoveled.

Not much triumph going on here—and yet

There is much we do not understand.

And my hopes and fears are met

In this small singer holding onto my hand.       

Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark       

And are there angels hovering overhead?

Hark.