Everywhere, a cacophony.
Men and women searching for good, a taste of something true and real for themselves and their families - (do they even know the Giver or the Good?) - they press and strain towards shadows.
Some protest and wait with arms crossed. Others confidently protest the protesting. People fight and accuse and point fingers. The sound builds.
I turn down the volume, take stock of this little house, whose plainness has often made me blush, and see its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.
Something stirs my quiet, ripples the surface of my serenity.
I'm a sensitive person, not an emotional one. My emotions live below, like rocks glowing soft on a clear riverbed. But lately I cannot help myself feeling....feeling the exquisite fragility of life and all its gifts.
This child, so lovely.
This man, so faithful.
This friend, so tender and wise
The tears come then, for gratitude.
I come meekly towards this month of thanksgiving and offering. I am not over-wise or skilled. The world is reeling with the ache of need. I have nothing to offer but a few loaves and a clutch of fish, the bits I have in my hand.
~ Tomorrow, a quick look at the practical.