Tag Archives: hope in the hard places

The Easter Hallelujah

Posted on by Image 4

“Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.”
― Pope John Paul II (Karol Wojtyła)

I am the song of Easter,
Many voices add fullness to my tune

My anthem began before the creation of the world
It took shape and form as the earth was birthed
It wandered the wilderness in search of a homeland
It has been the aching of the ages
It became visual with the birth of a baby …

I am the song of the seasons
The praises formed in the heat of summer
The harvest song of a well-lived life
The frozen despair in the dead of winter,
The irrepressible burst of new life in spring.
I am the song of celebration, the song of beauty.

I am the song of despair .. the longing song
How long oh Lord will you hide your face from us?
I am the song of confusion and fear, with notes unclear
I am the song of plenty and the song of want
The lament of pain, the balm of comfort
I am the song of amnesia, words forgotten in the dark
I am the song of light and memory
Sing this in remembrance of me.

I am the voice in the crowd … joining the Hosanna of Palm Sunday …
and I am the same voice in the crowd calling crucify him, crucify him …
I am the song of silent shame
And I am the song of Grace … of Forgiveness
I am the song of strong surrender
The song that hung on the cross.

I am the song of resurrection Power
I am the song of green seeded Hope that overflows
Hope to see loved ones again
I am the song of Rest, abide in me, hear my lullaby
I am the song within your heart

We join in the song, with voices weak or strong …
This is the song of humanity
This is the song of a God who sings over us in the night
This is a song of gratitude, of praise, of sorrow
This is a song unstoppable.

And centuries later I am the receiver of this song
I am the one at the graveside of a son, a daughter
and I can barely whisper …
we do not grieve as those who have no hope
Others help me to sing the tune when I cannot hold it
The spirit sings the resurrection song to aching hearts around the world.

Will you join singing the broken Hallelujah?

 

This poetry came out of an assignment to portray a character of the traditional Easter story. The hope of Easter is a challenge for many people whose hallelujah has been broken.

Lessons from Crutches

Posted on by Image Reply

Lessons from Crutches …

Riding up the ski slopes on a snowmobile had never been on my bucket list. But being pro-active in life, I check-marked that experience even before it got on the list. The beauty of the mountains were subdued by a ski induced knee fracture. And now crutches, and other devices are temporarily part of my day to day activity.

When I was sixteen, my five-years-older-than-I sister headed back to university after a weekend at home. I worried for her safety because she was traveling an hour and a half in a severe prairie snowstorm. My stomach twisted tight as visibility reduced, and I was afraid because I had recently been saved at an evangelistic meeting. As my sister drove into the city, I bargained with God promising that if she would make it safely, I would send her a letter. I don’t remember my exact words, but I’m fairly certain I included a salvation option with the fire insurance policy. Likely I tossed in a four spiritual laws gospel tract for good measure. I’m not sure if she responded by mail, or in person the next time we met. But, bolstered by her university secular insight, she suggested that she was fine and if I needed religion as my crutch that was also fine. She assured me she did not. Nearly forty-seven years later I recall that reference to a crutch as I am hobbling about the house after my ski injury.

And I have come to appreciate the value of a crutch. Technically I’m not even supposed to let my left big toe touch the ground, and I am not strong enough to stand on one foot all day. In fact I need two crutches. By definition crutch means:

a long stick with a crosspiece at the top, used as a support under the armpit by a lame [yes they use the word lame] person, a thing used for support or reassurance.

And I am feeling rather lame. It’s lame that I can’t brush my teeth without wobbling. It’s lame that going up three stairs causes me to rethink where I will go. It’s lame that the auto doors at the grocery store almost knocked out my left crutch, causing a near face plant into bananas. But, I am glad that I have some thing for support and reassurance. I’m also kind of curious as to what kinds of things people use as crutches to prop them up. Drugs, alcohol, religion and technology appear the easy ones to pick on. What about our over busy-ness? That might not be a crutch, it might just be a way of avoiding ourselves. Why does the idea of a crutch carry a negative undertone? 

 

At the beginning of a small self pity episode, my husband kindly reminded me that prior to the G-2 knee brace (that has become my new best friend) I would have been in a full leg cast, from upper thigh to ankle for six to eight weeks. Try that on for size. Over a decade ago after a profound loss, in a time of deep grieving, I expressed to those around me, that people with a physical injury knew what type and length of recovery process to expect. But, neither grief, nor long term illness has the benefit of a well defined time period. I am very aware that I can expect a full return to activity, granted I am in my sixties and likely will have a stiff knee, but I still hope to ski again. Shattered dreams this is not, by comparison to what some Canadian hockey families are going through. Many crutches and supportive communities are needed for restoration of that magnitude. We often don’t know what to say other than that: Our thoughts and prayers are with them.

Spring is in the air, although with reluctance. On a day like today, I breathe deep, feeling very grateful that there is much to be thankful for, many moments to laugh at myself and most importantly, that it is okay to use crutches for this crazy thing we call life. We all need somebody to lean on.

Here’s the lean on me song … Playing for change, song around the world.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LiouJsnYytI

In the month of April, Jocelyn is offering a complimentary copy of her book on grief: Who is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience.  Contact her at jbmarietalking@gmail.com

 

The EASTER STING

Posted on by Image 2

My church background did not focus on the Lent season … other than the passion week, or Holy week, where my fasting attempts usually left me feeling a little less holy. This year I’m out of the chocolate bunny’s reach and left to ponder anew the central meaning of the old story. Does it translate into reality in the wanderings of faith?

Recently on a fast paced walk with my sister-in-law, I told her I needed a poem for Easter … I’d already purchased two new poetry books at the thrift store. A cup of coffee and further conversation at her house followed that walk. As the last drops were sipped, she went to get something and said, Here I think this is for you, as she handed me Malcolm Guite’s book of Poetry and Lenten readings; a poem-a-day with explanations. Reading these daily poems has brought a new freshness to the Lent season for me. Not only that, some poetic writing happened … my apologies to those who are less likely to read poetry. Many of these thoughts originated while walking along an Ontario spring river where thin sheets of ice break into pieces, these pieces rise up and for a brief moment the broken edges shine brilliantly. The topic of reflections initiated ideas both as mirror images and of bending back what has been sent to the recipient. I appreciate the idea that a mirror image on water reflects what it is shown, while a prism bends the light.

Reflections

Do I reflect back to you what you reflect to me?
And if not, why not?
Can the fractured glass hold back its prismatic beauty?
Catching the rainbows
as the Light shines upon it.
Waters dark and deep glisten in the rays
The echo returns not a new song,
but a muted variation of what has been heard.
If the truth be that I only know what I’ve been shown,
would there be a point to the search,
or is the journey of the question,
the quest that causes our hearts to burn within us?

John Donne said in his poem:
… and mysteries
Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes.

Death and resurrection are powerful and painful thoughts focused on before Easter. This next poem recalls the first Easter when that resurrection promise did little to alleviate the painful loss of two children. I have long given up the giving up for the lent season. For people bereaved, the Lent is too long. I admit I was happy to receive Lent readings halfway through the forty days. I do not feel a need to manufacture any more heaviness in my Lenten contemplations. I long to experience the joy and hope that Easter brings, the busting out of new life after the frozenness of winter.

The EASTER STING

That Easter years ago
When thoughts that the promise of resurrection
would be the comfort, the
Power to overcome the weight of grief …
     Vanity of vanities, all is vanity

Death, where is thy sting?
Where is thy sting?
Who dares ask me that question?
That sting
Is in my heart
It relentlessly courses down my cheeks
It darkens a sunny day
It knots my stomach tight
It robs my sleep of dreams by day or night.
Powerfully absent that Victory o’er the grave,
The grave too fresh, too wrong, two young the spirit
My numbed heart shrouded in death’s dark vale.
     Vanity of Vanities, all was vanity

And so as time heals all wounds,
It also wounds all heals
As it wears down the sharp edge of the grave
It also mutes the vibrancy of the spring flowers
Victory, when will you come?
When will you thaw grieved hearts
When will spring resurrect dreams of life?
     Is it all vanity? …

(The silent church pause)
The heavens remained quiet
Victory comes in battle, it skirmishes the mind
It cries out in the night, cries out to those seemingly silent heavens
It pleads the prayers of resurrection.
Greater things than these shall we also do …
Overcoming sorrow by
Hope-filled prayers in the night,
by candles lit, by songs sung
by moments of awareness as our
  H-hearts are
     O-open and the
       P-power of the risen Christ
         E-envelops our stricken souls

May it be as you have said … (I believe) help me in my unbelief …

Wishing you Hope for this spring season.

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head? Grief as an out of body Experience, during the month of March and April she is offering a free copy of her book to those who ask. If interested please contact me at jbmarietalking@gmail.com and I will mail you a copy. People that bought the book, have told me it has been a powerful help for understanding deep grief and how to support someone in that time.

There’s Always Something …

Posted on by Image 2

IMG_8892There’s always something …

In the midst of spring’s great expectations, both a wild fire rages and a fridge breaks down. And I can tell you I’d choose a fridge breakdown over the flames any and every day.

It’s also Mother’s Day weekend, and I know that many women dread this day, along with its suitcase of hidden pains and unmet longings.

I hope my daughter calls, but she lives in a country that does not recognize this Hallmark Day. She is also a busy mother and I will try to call her; as I do want to acknowledge the fantastic job she is doing of raising my grandchildren. My surrogate (official definition: a substitute, especially a person deputizing for another in a specific role or office) daughter in Australia, has asked for my mailing address so she can send me something. I don’t need or want a gift I tell her, I would just like a conversation. What I would really like is the connection with the two that don’t call anymore, but like many other Moms, that catching up will have to wait for heaven. Over the years, I’ve heard many of the sadnesses women express over Mother’s Day: the sadness of remaining childless, the sadness of children buried, the sadness of rocky relationships with children. The pain is always greater for the mother separated from a child, than for the child. A little piece of the mother heart goes to each child; and when that daughter has her own children, she will understand the way a mamma’s heart gets divvied up.

This week I had a delightful mother/child encounter while biking the Rocky Mountain Legacy trail, from Canmore to Banff. About half-way, Parks Canada has set up two lovely red lawn chairs; I decided to stop on the return trip, to sit and take in the view. As I arrive to the red chairs, I see that a trio has also just stopped and it looks as though we might both be IMG_4257heading for the chairs. I take one, as a mother plops her little one in the other, and we both take photos. She offers to take my picture, I agree. She sets her drink down on the adjoining arm rest, I say “I’ll raise the cider. I’m sending this to my sister that joined me on this trail last year, she’ll like the drink addition.” After she takes my photo-I reciprocate the offer. The three moms scurry the young ones …  scatter the kids amongst themselves, raise their drinks and I keep shooting. “Look this way, say cheese, do the cheer. How about one from the back, so we see the mountains?” After thanking me, they ask if I’d like the fourth cider. “They came in a pack of four so we do have an extra.”

“Yes, I say, that would be great.”

I discover they met in prenatal classes just over a year ago. Then the interesting birthing stories began. Two of them had C-sections. As a former nurse, I asked a few questions. “Were you disappointed to end up with a C-section?” Not really “Did you have a doula?” One had. “Is this your first mother’s day?” Yes.

To Danika, Jessica, Adrianna and all the other first time moms—Happy Mother’s Day to you!

For those with a first sad Mother’s Day—May you be encouraged. You gave the world something beautiful, and you yourself are a better person for that. To the mature mothers & grandmothers: Let’s encourage the young moms. The pressures put on moms can be overwhelming, stifling and self-diminishing. The blend of home, career and parenting is a daunting task, even more challenging than it was in our day.

Adrianna asked about my mothering experience. After briefly explaining my loss, they knew I meant when I said what I have held to be true for a long time: “Motherhood is a high calling. Spend as much time as you can, because you never know what the future holds.”

There is always something … and the forest fire rages in Northern Alberta, while my fridge has been fixed and has resumed its cooling.

Mother’s Day flowers found near Canmore—a special treat: Wild Orchids.IMG_8898

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head- Grief as an Out of Body Experience

Of Boogie Boards and Mermaids

Posted on by Image 2

The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears, or the sea.             Isak Dinesen

IMG_2157In three days time, I will be on the coast of North Africa. For thousands of years this land has intrigued and invited people to take part in the rituals and magic of life by the sea. Remains of ancient Roman villas, public baths and libraries remind me that others have walked those places before me. Their footsteps have all washed away, as will mine. But while I am in that space, while I am in any space I want to live and breathe the energy it gifts to those who are open.

I connect with Jill Davis’ line about the waves of the sea help me get back to me.

My grandchildren explore unmarked ruins, dip their toes into clear waters of the Mediterranean and barbecue hot dogs along blonde sandy shores. There is a sense of infinity as cerulean blue of sky and water blend into each other. Earth meets sky as thoughts of infinity and divinity merge together on the distant horizon … The land of hopes, dreams and mosaic memories.

And my bags are packed to the gills. Last summer I bought boogie boards for the grandchildren’s visit to my Canadian home, but we experienced end-of-summer-snow and warm campfires. Now the crazy thought to take the boards to North Africa had entered my head, and after a request for life jackets came from across the ocean, my decision was made. Even though my grandchildren live by the sea, my son-in-law could not find life jackets in the local stores. We may be over safetied here in Canada, but they are definitely under the mark. This just meant a second checked in bag … There are times I try to travel light, with only one checked in bag, but when considering gifts for the grandkids and their safety … some of the reasoning went by the sea side.IMG_2250

Certain things make me feel small – mountains and oceans are definitely in that category – especially oceans as they seem to have no beginning or end. Their vastness, can be calm or unrelenting. They not only make me feel small, but they give me a sense of the bigger picture, and my place in it. And the reality that all the trivial daily fussing is not worth its energy. There is a much grander scale of life beyond the routine. There is also an infusion of sacred in the ordinary. Mother Theresa said: We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop.

I can hardly wait to stand by the sea, to feel the water on my toes.

tumblr_m9f2kx6kmV1rq9jvzo1_500

Mermaid image by: quotesville.com

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out-of-Body Experience

Learning to Live the Loss

Posted on by Image 3

IMG_1410If there were a day to strike from the calendar—Feb 27 would be that day for me—a day three of the most beautiful young people on the planet departed, eleven years ago. Every day in the news, I hear of events that would make others wish to erase another day.

As I type, a reminder pops up in the corner of my computer screen- A day to get through. A month ago I typed those words on this day. Now it asks me if I want to close or snooze—could erase be an option?

I find that the dread of a day can be worse than the day itself. As I was writing in my journal the day before, I decided music should be a part of this preparation. “All right, God—you can select the songs.” I put the setting to random. I never know what will play, usually a mixture of spiritual, folk, John Fogarty, Christmas carols, and my foreign language lessons. I had the sneaky suspicion I was trying to put God to the music test,  just to see if He was listening.

The first song takes me back to when my now-in-heaven-daughter was thirteen. This was a signature song for her that year. Through the register vents Twyla Paris would sing: God is in control, we will choose to remember and never be shaken, there is no power above or below. Oh-oh-oh God is in control. That is a great start. I could not have picked better.

The next song is from the Christmas album given by that same daughter her last Christmas, and Sue Chick sings … Heaven comes down, the hearts of men rise … do we dare take a chance … and the heart longs for more. Then Steve Bell tells me that Into the darkness we must go, gone, gone is the light.

And I notice increased number of age spots on the hand that holds the pen. I sit there thinking this is kind of silly and any moment the Arabic lesson would come through. I was interrupted by a call from the florist for a delivery. But, song after song encouraged me. At song 14, I thought perhaps I should get on with my day. Johnny Reid finishes the set of fifteen with I left my hometown years ago … to let all this love surround me. I would have said, to let all this beauty surround me. And I realize Love and Beauty often feel synonymous. Both are heavenly gifts. I contemplate the power of the words, and the themes of love, loss and suffering … songwriters capture the struggles we have. Music soothes and inspires, it reminds me that I am not in control, I am not alone on the journey, and I must continue. Sauntering in sacredness is an option.

I sent my sister-in-law a thank you for the flowers, she responded with an email about an image she had of new green shoots coming forth. Later that afternoon, I went for a walk … and found a likeness of her vision:IMG_1961

Never before have I seen shoots in February. These green and burgundy shoots brimmed with hope of new life. For this day, I head to the mountains, to contemplate the gifts of the journey … and to sit in the beauty, this is what I left my hometown for.

From John O’Donohue’s book Beauty, a poem by Dietrich Boenhoffer:

The Unfilled Gap

Nothing can fill the gap                                                                                                  When we are away from those we love and it would be                                    Wrong to try to find anything                                                                                      

Since leaving the gap unfilled preserves the bond between                                   Us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap.                                                           

He does not fill it but keeps it empty, so that our communion                          With another may be kept alive even at the cost of pain.

Love of Advent-ure

Posted on by Image 2

4thadventimagesIf, as Herod, we fill our lives with things, and again with things; if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action, when will we have the time to make the long, slow journey across the desert as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds? Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary? For each one of us, there is a desert to travel. A star to discover. And a being within ourselves to bring to life.  (Anonymous, but quoted by Sarah Ban Breathnach in Simple Abundance)

“What does it feel like to be loved?”

The question is asked of my daughter who lives with her husband and three small children in a N African Islamic country. The lady who poses the question is heavy with her third child. Last December I joined my daughter to invite neighbours to attend a Ladies event to experience the flavour of a Canadian Christmas. In this country they do not celebrate December 25th, they do not get caught up in ribbons and bows, in getting the right turkey, the right gifts … they do that for other cultural events. As we spread the word about the party, one of the ladies said “everyone wants to be at her house.” It is a house of welcome, of lightIMG_0456 and love. This year, I could not be there and encouraged my daughter in whatever way I could, mainly prayer from wintery Canada. She is eight hours ahead, it was early Friday afternoon that the first details came through: “a house full of women, rich conversation, laughter, fun, food.” Via WhatsApp she said “And one pregnant woman who did not have the two dinars (about a dollar) for a taxi ride, walked seven kilometres to come.” I was moved to tears to read that. That woman walked seven kms because she felt loved and accepted by my daughter. My daughter does not preach, she invests herself into their lives … she cares, she also gives this woman a ride home.

What does it feel like to be loved? Three weeks ago, I heard a fable by Max Lucado. This is now my retelling of his telling … As the prince rode throughout the land, he took note of a peasant woman, he fell in love with her … he proposed marriage. She wanted to refuse … how could he love her, he lived in a castle, she was just a common woman. He insisted that He loved her for who she was, and he wanted to marry her. She still responded in doubt, but as he seemed quite persistant, she said,  she could cook and clean for him, and bear his children … He said, “I do not want you because you can cook and clean, and bear children. I want you to be my wife because I love you” …. They married; she cooked and cleaned and bore his children, but somehow she never trusted his love. In the end she left him, and said to one of her friends, “I never really felt that he loved me.”  

IMG_0419Something stirred my heart at this story as I have often wondered IF God, who says He is love, could love me? What does it feel like to be loved by the creator of the universe? I have learned that grief does not feel like love …. but the question hangs in the air. Do actions speak louder than words? I do believe that Christmas is Love in Action.

How will I spend the final advent hours? May I take time to feel the desert wind, to gaze at a star and to ponder the birth of new understanding. The final word is Immanuel, God with us, through each season of life, through the longing and the filling, in the journey through the desert. 

Why settle for tinsel, when we are offered the kingdom? 

DSC_0062

Jocelyn is the Author of Who is Talking out of My Head-Grief as an Out of Body Experience

The Advent-ure of Joy and SAD

Posted on by Image 3

“I bring you good news of great joy, that will be for all the people.”

joy-does-not-simply-happen-to-us-we-have-to-choose-joy-and-keep-choosing-it-every-day-joy-quotesAfter three days of thick fog, and pondering thoughts of joy, for the third Advent-ure, I realized that England or Vancouver are not ideal places for me to live. Three days of fog was enough to diminish the joy I’d been working on.

Is my Joy up to me? While I believe I have a part to play, surely I cannot be sole source of my joy. What is joy? I combined my ideas with Kay Warren’s and Theopedia’s to define joy as a (positive)state of mind and orientation of the heart,(theopedia) brought about because of the settled assurance that I am not in control of all details of my life (God is); this brings a confidence that ultimately everything is going to be alright. (Warren)

Joy is hard to find and easy to lose.

What are the big joy snatchers? We each have our own as our individuality plays a part. Over time, I have learned which things trigger me, but oh these thieves are deceptive sneaky little buggers. And then guilt tags along to remind me that I should be more joyful, I should be more grateful. And I want to tell him where to go, but initially his familiar voice lures me into guilt’s downward spiral.

That negative list is easy to focus on. Richard Rohr says that “True joy is harder to hold onto than anger or hatred.” I can attest to that, even shallow joy passes that test.

Stress, which for me includes technology glitches, erodes my joy.

Relationship glitches/misunderstandings between people I care about is another joy thief.

What are my Joy Practices?

Walking is a good antidote for me.

My Mop/Mind of Peace helps me get to where I want to go.

Looking outward and inward to find joy.

This week I had several joy moments, the little moments of daily joy.

Listening to great music with a friend, getting outdoors, and the greatest gift of Joy this past week came through a Christmas drama Friday night.

I had to drive a half hour in barely-could-see-the-lines fog to get to the theatre. Had I IMG_0285not invited two friends along, I would have stayed home. When we found our seats, we wondered if we had carried the fog inside. Machine produced haze created the ambiance. The drama was one of the most creative, artistic re-telling of the Christmas story I’d ever experienced. Moved to tears several times, as the dancers, actors, narrators, and musicians carried me along the backdrop story to show the birth of love and mercy at Christmas. The phenomenal opening and closing scenes included an aerial ring acrobat, a mini Cirque du Soleil style performance. The artist changed from a silver body suit in the opening, to a red one in the finale, while the chorus sang about Unspeakable Joy. Something in my heart shifted.

IMG_0274Simone Weil has said that two things pierce the soul, beauty and affliction. This red dancer was beauty in the midst of suffering. This pictured for me the Joy that comes in both the morning, and the mourning. It comes as the spirit is invited in.

Saturday, as I set out for my walk, the local fog finally lifted, revealing stunning hoarfrost on all the trees. This reminded me of the people walking in darkness metaphor, of seeing a great light. When the fog lifts, joy like the hoarfrost covers everything in its path … even the garbage.

And I am humbly reminded of my fridge magnet –Take my advice, (apparently) I’m not using it 🙂

Peace of Mind Advent-ure

Posted on by Image 2

imagesThe slip of the moon shines through the slats of my window blinds, and three lines below – the morning star bright and clear. December days lack in daylight, but the advantage is that the pink sunrise arrives at a respectable 8am. A sense of peace prevails, as I smile back at the moon.

Peace defined as: stress-free state of security and calmness; a freedom from disturbance, war or violence. Peace, a word we toss around this  season, as we light the second Advent candle and wonder how does this message of Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men, pair against the late night newscast and our own videos that play in our heads.

Just over six years ago, I met Mitch (not her real name) at the drug clinic I worked at. Dr George, the founder, asked if I would spend some time with one of his most inspirational-quote-peace-2challenging clients, a young woman with a  troubled past, and an addiction of mass quantities of her current prescription choice. Perhaps I could take her out for coffee, now and again. Little did I know … Over many coffees and conversations and trips to the emergency department, I got to know Mitch fairly well. At one point she told me that there was a constant battle going on in her mind between an angel on her right shoulder and a little devil on the left. Clearly the left was winning. She illustrated for me what Paul wrote in Romans 7: I can will it, but I can’t do it … I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it. I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. She is not alone in this mind battle; it is one thing when I am fighting the extra chocolate cheese cake in the fridge, or an overdose of barbiturates. 

It has been said that time heals all wounds, it can also be said that time wounds all heals. Unless we come to terms with what has happened in our lives, we GMPOMimagescannot stop the whirling activity of mind. I thought I would be celebrating Christmases with a large family, three children, and the grandkids   adding the extensions so all could fit around the table. It was not to be. And the voices in my head could whirr on …. It has become my daily choice to accept that my life has not turned out as hoped or expected, but there is still much beauty in life. There is a depth of beauty I had not known before. There is a peace that comes when I realize that I am not in control.

I have long said that you can get scriptures and statistics to support any cause. I also have the gift of misinterpreting the ancient words. (It is not mentioned in most spiritual gift listings.) In the NKJV, Phillipians 4 says: Be Wayne_Peaceindexanxious for nothing … I took that to heart. For many years I would be anxious for nothing, wondering if I’d said the right thing, got involved here, donated to the right cause, and the anxious for nothing list went on. This Advent as I ponder the candle of Peace, I am reminded that my great battle for peace is for peace of mind; and I need to practice my Mind of Peace-my Mop. With my Mop I sweep the doubts away.  *I choose to accept my life as it is, not how I wish it was, *I choose to see that there is much beauty in this world, and *I choose to believe I need help in this war. I practice this Mop, this mind of peace with the help of the Prince of Peace.

Peace – one of the greatest gifts of Advent.

Jocelyn is author of Who is Talking out Of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience

Recently someone reminded me of Simon & Garfunkel’s version of Silent Night with the newscast as background; 48 years later it still haunts.  Here are 2 links, the first one with the newscast visual, the second with only the 1966 cover album.  the links:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1X_a9o4ezw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgYFXCUEL4Y

The Advent Adventure

Posted on by Image 3

IMG_8685Even before the Hallowe’en masks disappeared, Christmas merchandise appeared in the stores. Every time fresh snow fell the song, It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas jingled in my head; and we had snow in September, so it’s been awhile. Thinking about the season of advent, I wondered if adventure shared the root word. With the ease of Google search, I found out that  advenire ‘arrive’ meaning the arrival of something is at the core of both.

Advent is defined as: the arrival of a notable person, thing, or event, while adventure is an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity. For many children Christmas is exciting, while parents can dread the season. The expectancy of something big happening fills the air. But, for people in grief, or challenging life circumstances, it is not the most wonderful time of the year. And if Santa Claus is the only one coming to town for December 25, I’m not sticking around for it. (Bah, Humbug!)

In the far past, I thoroughly enjoyed December, and more hope-beach-sunset-quotes-quotesrecently I have rekindled a love of the Christmas season, coming out of a ten year mark of a world turned upside down, with personal catastrophic events that made the Christmas of 2005 my most dreaded ever. The Christmas that mocked me with All hearts come home for Christmas, the first Christmas that two of my three children were not on this planet, the first Christmas without my husband … I feel a strong kinship with the Biblical descriptor of  The people walking in darkness have seen a great light, on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned …   The dawning of light, is the beginning of hope. The beginning of the great adventure of Emmanuel … God with us … through thick and thin, through darkness and light.

This year as I light the first candle of Advent, the candle of Hope I reflect on the Hope that has carried me through a passage of grief, to a new shore. A stumbling towards beauty and grace.                                                                           

Hope is a choice, Hope has given me my voice                                                                 to question to doubt, to scream and shout                                                                           Hope has been in the midst as a spark                                                                                 as a river, a cause to shiver                                                                                                      Hope behind, hope before as it opens and shuts the door.                                                The taste of hope and I want more …                                                                                      More of the source, more of truth, more of the grace it has given                                 I want hope on this earth   …   and a taste of Heaven.

best_hope_quotes_with_images

Emily Dickinson says, Hope is the thing with feathers/ that perches in the soul. Does that make hope flighty? Or does it means it visits, when I need it most? Hope is a choice I can make. For me the source of the Hope is the litmus test of its worthiness. It is easy to miss the meaning of Christmas; it has been turned into numbers of shopping days left, and pre-Christmas boxing day sales.           May you also have some adventure in your advent season … we settle for tinsel when we could have eternity … 

A favourite Advent song of mine is Ready My Heart by Steve Bell. My apologies if the link does not work.

http://redmp3.cc/13011993/steve-bell-ready-my-heart.html

Jocelyn is author of Who is Talking out of My Head, Grief as an out of Body Experience