A day to pause and rest as light and dark meet in the delight of seasons and change. The days grow longer even as our roots sink into connection beneath what is easily seen.
Etty Hillesum:
Through me course wide rivers and in me rise tall mountains. And beyond the thickets of my agitation and confusion there stretch the wide plains of my peace and surrender. All landscapes are within me. And there is room for everything.
While waiting in a parking lot for a friend to drive me to the Sausalito ferry for a gathering in the city, I heard a noise behind me. There was a young buck with tiny antlers. We hung out together while he nibbled, and then a second appeared with bigger antlers, and then a third with even more branching.
Today I read about a mother who fulfilled her daughter’s childhood dream by building an animal sanctuary in her memory.
From the article in the Washington Post today:
Most days, first-grader Catherine Violet Hubbard could be found roaming the yard of her Newtown, Conn., home — the place where, accompanied by her pets, she’d discover a whole universe of critters and bugs to adore. Almost like a princess in a Disney movie, she’d whisper to the animals to tell their friends that she was nice, in hopes that they’d come in droves to visit her.
Ever since she was born in 2006, Catherine had a burning passion for animals, her mother, Jenny Hubbard, told The Washington Post. By the time she turned 5, Catherine had already decided she wanted to be an animal sanctuary caretaker when she grew up. But on Dec. 14, 2012, she was one of 20 children and six adults killed inside Sandy Hook Elementary.
The freckle-faced girl with bright red locks was just 6 years old. And though Catherine never got to be a teenager or see her life’s wishes come true, Hubbard has made it her mission to fulfill them. On Wednesday — exactly 10 years after the school shooting — Hubbard will break ground on the Catherine Violet Hubbard Animal Sanctuary, a nonprofit meant to foster the bond between humans and animals. The sanctuary will provide veterinary care, educate visitors and serve as a migration space for hummingbirds, bees and other pollinators.
I watch a video of a newly born baby, sleeping, gurgling, a little peep of adjustment here and there. What is it to be born, to be thrust out of a womb after nine months of containment?
Isn’t it happening all the time, these waves spreading and shared?
Surprise is the seed of gratefulness. Become aware of surprise. Relish surprise as life’s gift.
Br. David-Steindl-Rast:
A father and son were fishing today at the beach. The young boy, perhaps five years old, opened a bag to show me the fish they’d caught. They were small and not so many so he said next time he would give me some. Generosity on an exquisite winter day as the Holidays are on gentle and seasonal approach, reflecting the tides.
I offer words of Howard Thurman:
Christmas returns, as it always does, with its assurance that life is good. It is a time of lift to the spirit,
When the mind feels its way into the commonplace,
And senses the wonder of simple things: an evergreen tree, Familiar carols, merry laughter.
It is the time of illumination,
When candles burn, and old dreams Find their youth again.
It is the time of pause,
When forgotten joys come back to mind, and past dedications renew their claim.
It is the time of harvest for the heart,
When faith reaches out to mantle all high endeavor,
And love whispers its magic word to everything that breathes.
Christmas returns, as it always does, with its assurance that life is good.
A friend was able to be with a friend as she passed away, not with her in person but through technology. She said the woman, a very spiritual person, literally became radiant in the last hours. I look at the clarity in the light this morning, as though it tilts down like a slide for us to climb, beckoning.
One more week of deepening into the dark, into reflection and memory, and then we immerse in the return of young light. We emerge to release and reform what matters to us now and now and now!
Each day a little more darkness, a little more velvet in which to wrap. The trees may be bare but inside we decorate with exuberance. For over forty years we’ve met with a group of friends for an early brunch and a journey to a Christmas tree farm to cut down a tree. Covid put an end to that but we did risk a smaller meeting on Saturday. These people love to decorate for Christmas. I share some photos from their home and this quote on which to lift even as our roots nestle even closer together to warm these long, cold nights.
I once asked a bird,
“How do you fly in this gravity of darkness?”
And she replied, “Love lifts me.”
– Hafiz
We enter awareness of passage more deeply this time of year.
As I observe the memories of some friends slip apart, I wonder about construction. What memories come together, and why, and how. What stays and what departs?
Meanwhile, I await the birth of a friend’s grandchild. My heart beats with excitement for the journey before him, and for how the entry of a little one affects each one of us.
I keep returning to the image and support of this wooden Christmas tree puzzle, considering how we each stand with our center support as pieces gather around and in us to make a whole.
We’ve been delighting in rain, rain, rain, and then yesterday despite sprinkles, we headed out with our three year old grandson to Muir Beach. He chattered all along the way, both coming and going, and then, we crossed the bridge, and heard the waves, and then saw the bliss of a winter-time beach when the sun shines down and warms the wet sand to a perfect consistency for sand castles and construction for roads for boats.
I’m reveling in memories as I pull out recipes and decorations. The weather adds to the mood as it’s cold and rainy. We’ll have a fire in the fireplace tonight. Candles are lit and music is playing.
My sons and I, and now my grandson, love the scented book The Sweet Smell of Christmas. Grandson is coming to stay with us, so I’ve filled the house with scent: pumpkin pie, pine, candy canes, and oranges. Grandson and his dad made gingerbread cookies today so they arrive tomorrow with the scent of ginger and spice. Lights are twinkling around the windows and along the fireplace mantel and in my heart.
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