Grandbaby Kaitlyn has mesmerized us since November 14th. We see the miracle of her through Jeremiah's countenance and announcement ("It's a girl!") as he carried her out of the delivery room. She is brand spanking new, filling us with wonder and awe. She comes ready or not, forcing us to respond to her in all her utter vulnerability with our fumbling care. She tries to see us who are loving her, but accepts our love blindly. She does nothing useful; no one asks her what she does for a living. She knows almost nothing; no one judges her for her lack of education. She is sheer being, just there to be cared for and loved. The miracle is that her "job" of just being transforms those around her: relatives that were alienated are reconciled; strangers become friends; great-grandparents are rejuvenated; grumpies show compassion; judges show mercy. Where did she learn to do all this? She has mysterious power. She must be a bit of being itself -- like all God's children -- bringing with her a bit of the new creation or new reality. ~jpc, Christmas 1995
Monday, December 27, 2004
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2 comments:
First paragraph is my response to the event you describe so beautifully.
Third paragraph is tangential to your event but on a separate track that might be useful as a blog contribution.
Musings on Christmas Day 2004
TCWright
Nothing has such an impact on a community’s life, when you give it your attention, than the birth of a child—whether that community is one person or a group focused on Christmas with the Bible account of Bethlehem and a manger, or a family celebrating the arrival of another member. Sometimes it is the strained happiness in the millions of secular lives who may or may not have experienced the wonder of birth in an otherwise somewhat sterile life in a world of wonder. That is the activity of God, or the Mystery, or the Spirit that presents itself in the life struggle of the birth and the awe we feel at this outrageous but beautiful intrusion into the normalcy of our lives.
The sometimes concealed eventfulness in the stories told on Christmas day stirs the memory of a thousand songs we may have grown up with, have thrown away, or are delighted to remember. Just like a mountain range that never goes away, songs, pageants, offshoots of the awe in window displays, even specific angers tied to the holiday come back to please us or upset us, hidden but still there. Twice this season school kids and members of a pentacostal church have come by to sing carols to the residents of the manor. I found myself eager to listen and singing along on almost all of them, my spine tingling and a smile on my face, with deep feeling in my heart and a lump in my throat that was not just sentimentality.
I wonder sometimes what people are wishing for when they hope for “peace.” Mostly it seems to be “stop the killing and protect my loved-one.” “Heavenly peace” is mentioned as a kind of lack of unease as we sleep. Peace becomes the lack of war and turmoil both around the world and in one’s personal life. It’s ok, I think, to have personal claims for peace, lots of them, and to articulate them. The more we can ground the source of our anxieties the more significant and workable they become Our general hopes for peace take on specific meanings that give us a foundation and a better picture of how we view ourselves in a world of risk and hope.
And there we have it again: the sun slides beyond the divide , coloring the clouds from the divide up and to the overhead clouds, bright and beautiful, but shading with a bit of the coming darkness and coloring the prospects for the Broncos to survive the dark tonight and to win a game (Channel 9 at 6:30 mst). The sky is now painted bright from Pike’s Peak to Long’s Peak and profiling the range in total blackness. . . .
I just love this! Thank you!
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