give my heart

November 22, 2021

Is it the weather? A slightly-too-overcast, slightly-too-cold sort of November day?

Is is the day of the week? A Sunday, which I’ve always found to be oddly melancholy. When I mentioned this fact, off-handedly, to my friend while on our customary midday walk, she asked

 me why? I paused, realizing that for as long as I can remember, I’ve taken this norm for granted. “I don’t know,” I responded. “Maybe the break from routine? The loss of an immediately productive schedule?” . . . a byproduct of a personality that is driven by a need to be needed?

Our walk today, however, dreary though the day may have been, lifted me out of my melancholy. Realizing this, after the fact, it occurred to me that the conversation itself had been powerful enough to transport me out of my emotions and into the moment.

My friend’s relaying of her rather remarkable week made my jaw quite literally drop with astonishment. I both laughed and rejoiced with her at the marvelous turn of events.

And then I relayed a series of events from my own past, realizing as I told them that the memories had been laying dormant in my mind for too long. The remembering of them brought a sense of grounding to my soul and, ironically, a renewed vision for the purpose of my here-and-now life.

Settling down tonight to our reading, my husband and I are listening to the Celtic Christmas channel. I know-it is not yet traditional Christmas-music-listening-time. Traditional, schmaditional, is what I have to say about that.

In The Bleak Midwinter comes on.

“Oh,” I say. “I love this song!” I pause, wondering what I love so much about the song. Such a melancholy tune, really. I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for those . . . but, oh, the lyrics. Yes. It must be the lyrics . . . 

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan;
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain,
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty —
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom Cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom Angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and Archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But only His Mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a Shepherd
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

*i took no photos today. this was a shot i snapped years ago, in Zambia. somehow the loveliness and innocence of this little one caught my heart. and seemed to fit.

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