Didn’t want to pass up on sharing this.
My friend Charles LaFond writes of the many contrasts, juxtapositions, and real differences in peoples lives.
The photo is his. As our the words. Offered here with thanks and appreciation for a good soul in my life that reminds me to look to the skies and to the ground.
A Christmas Morning Blessing
Blessed be this day.
Blessed be this Christmas day.
Blessing rest on the heads of children in families whose gifts cover a carpeted floor under a tree of lights.
Blessing rest on the heads of homeless children awakening in the shelters of our cities, awakening to a new day of walking in streets and reading in parked, cold cars.
Blessing rest on parents bustling around breakfast casseroles refereeing toy ownership and hosting puzzles by firesides.
Blessing rest on parents whose poverty calls into question this “loving God” referred to by wealthy Americans who trust in a God who provides wealth to rule-keepers.
Blessing rest on the hands and hearts of those, this Christmas Day, who comfort and serve the financially and emotionally poor, marginalized and hope-starved.
Blessing flow from the rivers, pouring water into dry fields.
Blessing flow from a warm sun, rising each day to warm a planet perfectly positioned to receive it into life – blue and green.
Blessing flow from animals and plants, the meat of which feeds this planet.
Blessing on the sick who hunger for vitality.
Blessing on we rich who hunger for enough with tine to read blogs and write them.
Blessing on the grief-stricken, whose loved ones and loved-lives have vanished leaving vast deserts of sand and hot lava stones. But in which, if one were to look carefully, new life is hosted.
Blessing on families awakening, like Mary and Joseph, into a state of homelessness or flight, or hiding, or all three.
Blessing on the dogs and cats whose presence is a comfort to the hairless bipeds whose suffering is soothed by a lick, a purring, a spooning and the heavy eyes of a pet which stands in witness and vigil, both.
Blessing on the hope which dawns on Christmas morning when churches are locked and blessedly silent even if for only a few hours.
Blessing on a Bishop’s mitre, a man’s AIDS virus and a child’s leprosy, all.
May we all, once boxes and bows have been secreted away for another year, spend this day in compassion for the dry sand ochres and lava rocks black while also celebrating baby pinks and blues.
Blessing on the cruel, the stupid, the caring and the kind. Christmas is a story in which all take center-stage together. In our desperate desire to scapegoat and achieve, may we remember a Savior who wanted nothing more than healing and peace, a simple meal and prayer emerging to celebrate considerably less pomp and rather more circumstance.
Blessing on sunrises and good tea. And Black Dog.
Blessing on enough.
