You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘joy’ tag.

“I can dance! I can jump! I can run! I can work! I can play!” so sings the ecstatic Amahl, the lame shepherd boy, in Gian Carlo Menotti’s one-act opera for children of all ages, Amahl and the Night Visitors (1951).

Set in Bethlehem, a fiery star, “as big as a window,” lures Amahl into the December hills where he pipes his heart out, one melody after another. An impossible dreamer, he frequently frustrates his widowed mother, further impoverished by the recent sale of their sheep. Piercing cold, hunger, no fire in their hearth, only sleep’s oblivion keeps death at bay. However, from out of the night emerge Melchior, Kaspar, and Balthazar, kings/astrologers and their page, seeking lodging in this widow’s hovel. Stories of their star-quest for another king quicken Amahl. Like their visitors, he will bring a gift, his crutch, all that he owns. In that decision, his withered leg throbs with new wholeness. He stands tall. He will have a life. He sings.

What was it that compelled Amahl to disregard the need for his crutch, without which he remained immobile, this reckless heart-gesture that gave its all? What did he see in that moment? What empowerment that changed everything?

Unfortunately, many of us still hold on to crutches, of whatever stripe, to inch us through challenges, to enhance functioning, to conceal our human foibles from others and ourselves. What would it be like to stride free from such hobbling compulsions and enjoy the sun’s warmth on our backs?

Perhaps in 2019, we’ll find out. May it be a very Happy New Year for you and your loved ones!

 

Advertisements

Like a cunning lover, last week’s snowfall wooed autumn’s dismantling within the rigors of winter: Leafy branches sported white overcoats; spindly shrubs stooped in supplication; fence posts peaked with medieval turrets. A solitary cardinal flashed toward a neighbor’s woodshed, then alighted and preened like a celebrity caught within the blitz of paparazzi. From a snow mound poked the handle of a red wagon. Flurries outlined swirls of breezes that fashioned ghostly images upon the asphalt street and tousled the green muffler flapping around the snowman’s neck nearby. Only random cars moved about.

All was still: Its pregnant hush evoked an OH! The first morning of creation must have felt like that.

Such OHs burst with silence, trip breathing, balloon joy, and open onto the companioning Sacred within our depths. Yet a tinge of sadness lingers in their wake, such OHs! so fleeting and evanescent. Would that we could hold onto them. That being said, we can still watch for them and give thanks when experienced.

And this year, do watch for OHs! around Thanksgiving tables, graced with family and friends. Go beyond well-worn traditions and bring something new: a new dish, a new prayer, a new listening.

“Bidden or not bidden, God is present.”

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

“Her name is Millicent—She’s nine weeks old.” Her voice trills, her dark eyes flash, her rounded shoulders stand tall as my neighbor shifts the short leash to her other gloved hand. Around her heels teeters her new poodle, its blonde scrimpy coat unlike the tawny one of Fredericka, her predecessor.

For long years my neighbor had cared for Fredericka: groomed her meticulously, walked her mornings and evenings, attired in appropriate rain or snow gear; and when younger, coached her to prance on hind legs to the squeals of kids. Even her hair color and loose fitting dresses complemented Fredericka’s. They were inseparable.

However, this spring brought change. Heavy were the steps of both my neighbor and Fredericka. Their walks were shorter, their spirits lagging. It was just a matter of time. And then my neighbor climbed the hills alone, her head bowed as if still searching for Fredericka, her black pointed shoes plodding resolutely upon the sidewalk. Somber was her attire and mood.

But no longer—winds now tease strands of blonde hair across my neighbor’s forehead and whips open her cream-colored long coat. Vibrantly alive, she bursts with news and the Universe is listening. We are too.

 

Available on Amazon

Advertisements
%d bloggers like this: