I live in Ottawa, Canada, and even I found this image stunning.
Winter is here, but it has been too “warm” (a relative term) to produce ice thick enough to support people on the Rideau Canal Skateway—the world’s largest skating rink. The conditions did produce this natural beauty though.
I’ll take it, even as I count the days until I can tie up my skates to glide on that ice.
Many people choose a word for the year. For the past few years my word has been chosen for me on the first Sunday of the year at our church. For the past nine months our “church” has not been a building; it has been an online community. The friendships with people from that community have kept me strong, led me to think, and made me laugh through the pandemic.
I guess it’s only fitting then that the word that community gifted to me for 2021 is FRIENDSHIP.
Friendship is a foundation. With a solid base of friendships, a person can hold steady through stormy times.
Friendship involves a mix of generations, of old and young sharing time.
Friendships reveal truths and provide opportunities for growth. Real friends tell us when we’re messing up. They let us know if we have grown stagnant and need to take on a new challenge.
Friendships make the world a better place. Friends volunteer together, raise funds, and help others.
Friendships promote lifelong learning. In book clubs, writing circles, courses, and one travels together, friends learn something new every day.
Friendships are fun. With friends we sing, dance, tell stories and laugh.
Friendships are comfort. They are organized compassion.
With FRIENDSHIP as my word, 2021 should be a spirit-filled year.
Barn's burnt down now I can see the moon. —Mizuta Masahide
The year 2020 was a scorcher, wasn’t it? A heck of a lot of “barns” burned down.
So hard. So sad.
But . . . what can you see now, that you couldn’t see before?
“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.”
—Maya Angelou
In our house, we count down to Christmas by lighting candles on the Advent wreath—one every Sunday before Christmas.
The fourth candle is the LOVE candle.
No matter what you believe, the Christmas story, and the stories of man whose birth we celebrate at Christmas, are about LOVE.
An unmarried woman gets pregnant? Love her anyway. A child is born out of wedlock? Love him anyway. A man is disenfranchised from society? Eat with him and love him anyway. A woman has a communicable disease? Walk with her and love her anyway. Someone wants to learn or play or work even though it’s a holy day? Teach them, laugh with them or help them and love them anyway.
This holiday season—no matter what or how you celebrate—love anyway.
Widely, madly, indiscriminately.
13 And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
— 1 Corinthians 13:13
This year, the best way we can show love is by keeping ourselves, our families and friends safe.
Sometimes we show the greatest love by staying away. With faith, and hope, we will abide, even when apart.
It did not happen like this:
Joseph: Mary, the wise men are on their way, and they’re all carrying something.
Mary: Carrying something? What could that be?
Joseph: I’m not sure, but one of them has something shiny. I think it’s gold.
Mary: Gold! Oh, no! But I didn’t get anything for them. Do we have something under the manger we can wrap up quickly?
You know the scenario: Someone you don’t usually exchange gifts with appears before you with a brightly wrapped Christmas gift. She beams with joy, because she has found the perfect thing. She saw it, thought of you and knew that you had to have it.
Do you receive the gift with unqualified gratitude? Or do you think, “Oh, no! I don’t have anything for her”?
We don’t know what exactly happened that first Christmas, but I like to I imagine that, if gifts were brought to the new baby, Mary and Joseph received everything with grace and gratitude. To do otherwise would have deprived the wise visitors of the joy of giving.
This Christmas, when someone beams with joy as they present you that perfect something bought out of love, receive it with unqualified joy and gratitude.
The joy of giving doesn’t depend on the joy of receiving.
We are in a different kind of December. We can’t fill up our calendars with festive parties every weekend.
It’s strange, but you have to admit, you’re feeling more rested, and you have more time to do everything you want to do.
Maybe you won’t be making the drive to a family Christmas gathering. Maybe it will be the first time you miss it.
It’s sad, but you have to admit, it will save you a lot of stress. Christmas will be more peaceful.
The cookie exchange, the group of friends that gets together every year, the Santa pub crawl will all have to wait.
Those are tough sacrifices, but you have to admit, it will be nice to not have to bake so much, and it will be easier to stick to a healthful diet.
We are forced to let go of events, rituals, traditions. Some of them we happily set free; others we will miss terribly.
No matter what, there is breathing room in those lowered expectations.
Peace.
