A pregnant pause.

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I’ve always felt the days between Christmas and New Year a time of evaluation, a time to reset my compass. It could make sense to celebrate new year on the 23rd of December, winter solstice, when night recedes, and days begin to lengthen, but perhaps it’s better this way. No one knows when Christ was born, but Dec. 25th seems a good choice, when “light comes to the world”.

He didn’t come with a trumpet blast, a sudden dramatic arrival. Rather He slid in quietly, as a tiny babe. (Much like our deepest resolutions, known only to those closest). Though greeted by angels and shepherds, and later prophets and wise men, his arrival was unknown to the vast majority, who were unaware of any change.

It was thirty years before His big public ministry began. Isn’t that how change usually comes? Begun by a define choice, a point of time we commit to a course of action, it’s manifestation appears slowly. Often there are things we must learn and experience before we can fully embrace our goal.

Christmas was commitment when Christ took the first step, by being born in the flesh. He had yet to expose himself to public scrutiny, to heal the sick, to walk on water, to die for us. He had choice as we do. At any point in those 33 years he could have thrown in the towel and walked away to hide in obscurity, but birth was his first commitment, when it all began.

So, I like to take time to ponder my path. Heart cleansed by the remaining gifts of Christmas, love, compassion, unity, I pray about my path and reset my compass for the year ahead.

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The morning after.

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The morning after Christmas dawns

The tree bedecked with lights adorns.

But loved ones scuttled to their homes

No more the joy and laugher roams.

Only photos mark the place

And filial love and fun replace.

 

And yet, if I’m to answer true

My head is pounding, and I rue

The ceasless round of food and drink

I’ve got too old for this I think.

 

Not too old for joy, and hugs,

Not too old for cuddle bugs.

Love each moment with my kids

And their offspring and their vid’s.

 

But at my age I need to pause

Rest, recuperate from chores

Listen to the still clear vioce

That makes the inner me rejioce.

I am so blessed in all you see

I think old age is suiting me.

the message of christmas.

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To believe the unbelievable, and then to find it true.

To turn on the colour in a world of shades of grey.

To feel joy growing in your heart till it gushes out embracing all around.

To have a light, a candle, which, though it may flicker, can never be extinguished.

A flame to kindle others, as stars bedeck the night sky.

Happy Christmas from songbird! But, if not…

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Wishing you all a wonderfully happy Christmas full of love, joy, hugs and kisses from those you love.

For those alone this Christmas, for whatever reason, may the Prince of Christmas himself fill your heart with the joy of his presence, that never leaves, always loves, forgives, cares. No matter where we find ourselves in life he’s just a prayer away each and every day and would love to spend Christmas cuddled together with you, bringing with him the magic innocence of childhood and the implicit wisdom of the ages.

From this little birdie let me add my own love, brother, sister, and a long lingering hug to any that may need one. xxx

The light shines in darkness and the darkness comprehends it not.

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I heard the Kurdish version of the story of the wisemen while working in a refugee camp. Kurds are the descendents of the Medes (I didn’t know that either!) So, Daniel (of lion’s den fame) worked for the king of the Medes and trained a school of wise men to follow in his footsteps after he was gone. According to Kurdish tradition the wisemen were “descendants” of Daniel. That’s why they knew about the star and the coming king!

I love it when I discover a new piece of the puzzle. Just wanted to share this little known one. It seems powers that be have long been trying to eradicate much of Kurdish literature which sheds light on their ancient Christian roots. The friend that told me this tale hoped to one day make it to London to search the texts in the British museum, the only remaining sanctuary of these ancient books.

 

Santa’s elves?

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I’m not generally a fan of Santas, not at all, but in this case…

I’d recently returned to London, from the far east, with my three youngest daughters. We’d been shocked to find the money we’d brought to rent a house and manage till I got a small business set up wasn’t enough. Not only had rents soared, but now they did credit ratings and required references from a UK landlord. My perfect bank records and glowing references from Asia counted for nothing. We were camped out in my eldest daughter’s living room, faced with a seeming impossibility.

Then “Santa” phoned. (I must explain this “Santa” was a Christian friend in children’s entertainments.) He’d heard we were back in London and asked if we’d found a house yet as his old landlord was looking for tenants. Things moved fast! In true Asian style, the landlord said no credit check etc. was needed, my friend’s recommendation was quite enough. Within a week we’d moved in and my poor son in law (who worked nights) got his kitchen-living room back.

However, it took almost all our money. Again “Santa” came through. He’d been given the running of Santa’s Grotto in a famous London mall and, knowing we were short of funds, offered us all Christmas jobs. My 17 year old became one of his fulltime elves and the rest of us worked at home wrapping Christmas presents for the grotto. He even passed face painting engagements my way to help kick start my business.

As an extra blessing, the 5 year old daughter of my eldest, (who had sacrificially put us up) got a lift to school from “Santa” (in full and glorious regalia) when on his way to work with his “elf”. She was the talk of the school by lunchtime lol!

So, God can even use “Santa” it seems.

A child.

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Unto us a child is born,

Not just one, but many.

Following in steps divine.

In innocence and eyes ashine.

Within this earthly realm align

These blessed lambs.

 

Each one a touch of Heavens grace

The path from which we’ve gone astray

Endeavour to retrace.

Till sullied so by acrid fumes

Pollution of our strife

They yield at last their childhood faith

And enter into “life”.

 

Only one did keep the faith,

Emerged at last unscathed

From fear and darkness, hate and lust

And to us all proclaimed.

“To enter in become a child

Be born upon this day

And follow me both one and all

I came to show the way.”