The fast of Nativity is here, and hardly (nary?) a thought have I given to the baby king. Too much of my days have been ill-spent "holding it together" (with little success— I feel an utter mess), instead of resting in awe of the One who holds everything together, in Whom all things consist.
I see him best in nature; I see his love in the provision and order and rhythm of living things. I see his light reflected by the full moon, his unchanging warmth in the sun on my freckled skin. I hear him in the joy of the cardinal’s call.
When I don't spend enough time in nature, and when days are dark and nights are long, my seeing eyes close over and my thoughts run in a loop, centered around my self. I forget what I am for, and I begin inventing nonsense to answer the calling of my heart.
What is the calling of my heart? Intimacy, and care. To be known, to be held, to be utterly accepted; to understand. To behold the Beautiful One and bow down before him with my life and to delight in him and his gifts. Forever I am puzzling how to hone in on these things with razor sharp focus. Perhaps I have been mistaken in thinking that I need to sit still and listen for an answer. Maybe simply sitting still and listening is the answer. And just bundling up and getting outside more would probably help too.
O Lord, may your handmaiden choose the good portion, and please, help her through the winter.