Tag Archives: Christmas

God’s Nest of Creation

I’ve been weaving a series of coiled basket creations mounted on driftwood, which I call “Bird Nests”. IMG_7419.jpg

Recently someone purchased this one and sent me this beautiful story.

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Nests evoke all kinds of emotions and bring forth thoughts of birthing, creating, preparing, anticipating and incubating. This Christmas I am gifting one of your nests to a very good friend who is undergoing chemo for breast cancer.

When I first saw your creation I thought of all within her that is being nourished and cared for and lovingly healed, in anticipating of the creation of health and a life filled with grandchildren, friends and family. The nest holds so many possibilities. It is the vessel for life used by feathered beings who fly free, seemingly effortlessly. It is safety, a sanctuary, a haven for life.

The nest is a place of living into hope. At Christmas, when we celebrate the birth of hope, peace, joy and love in the form of Jesus, we are reminded that God breaks into our world in tiny, fragile ways. Indeed we are the inhabitants of God’s nest of creation.IMG_3878.jpg

Thank you Susan, for sharing.

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Christmas Music

Image 15Over 30 years ago, when my husband served as an ordained clergyman and we were poor church mice he came home bearing this boxed set of 5 vinyl albums. Christmas Through The Years was the quintessential Reader’s Digest compendium of seasonal music. One of his parishioners gifted it to us. I guess they were downsizing and wanted to get rid of them.

We stil have a turntable and I love to spin these lovelies. Especially Record 2, Christmas in the ’50s.

Image 16I must be a sucker for Harry Belfonte, Perry Como, Bing Crosby and Guy Lombardo. Sure beats some of the distasteful music they come up with for Christmas now.

I still think about old Art Skinner, the man who gave us these albums so long ago in Ottawa. Good music is such a balm to the soul.

 

Christmas Past

One of my favourite pictures, circa 1963, is this one of me and my Mum in front of the Christmas tree. It’s badly taken, that’s for sure. Probably from my Grampa Percy’s camera.

When I went to touch it up in photoshop I noticed that my Grandmother Winifred appears reflected in the living room window of my childhood home. Kind of spooky, considering my mother now looks exactly like her.christmas0001(A four generational picture if you take into account that when a girlchild is born all the possible eggs waiting for fertilization and subsequent progeny are within her.)

This picture gives me much joy. My mother always made sure I had a lovely dress to wear on Christmas. Something, no doubt, she herself had sewn for me.

On the tree is a Santa Claus ornament made from a recycled toilet paper tube and cotton baton. Original tinsel which was painstakingly placed piece by piece (no throwing in our family). And taken off the same way, individually piece by piece and stored carefully for the next year.

My mother always took great effort to make a lovely Christmas for us.

Today I’m taking down our real cut Christmas tree. It has been a perfect little tree, not dropping nary a needle over the time it has adorned out house over the festivities. Forty dollars, a small amount to pay for a little Christmas cheer and to support Ontario agriculture.

And as I pack away the treasures of family ornaments I can’t barely keep from crying knowing that my mother’s experience of Christmas is immensely diminished due to advanced dementia.

Even though she is but a ghost of who she once was I am eternally grateful for the memories she gave me of Christmas.

 

 

Before Jesus

Madonna

This Christmas is so very new and different. We have our own gift of the boy child. Our first grandson. So this poem is particularly poignant as I ruminate over my daughter’s home birth.

A Poem for the Season: Before Jesus by Alla Renée Bozarth
Before Jesus
was his mother.

Before supper
in the upper room,
breakfast in the barn.

Before the Passover Feast,
a feeding trough.
And here, the altar
of Earth, fair linens
of hay and seed.

Before his cry,
her cry.
Before his sweat
of blood,
her bleeding
and tears.
Before his offering,
hers.

Before the breaking
of bread and death,
the breaking of her
body in birth.

Before the offering
of the cup,
the offering of her
breast.
Before his blood,
her blood.

And by her body and blood
alone, his body and blood
and whole human being.

The wise ones knelt
to hear the woman’s word
in wonder.

Holding up her sacred child,
her spark of God in the form of a babe,
she said:

“Receive and let
your hearts be healed
and your lives be filled
with love, for
This is my body,
This is my blood.”

Birth Announcement