CHRISTMAS EVE, AND TWELVE OF THE CLOCK, "NOW THEY ARE ALL ON THEIR KNEES"

Two years ago on December 4, 2017 I posted "THIS IS THE MONTH FOR MUSIC, MAKING, POETRY AND PRAYER."   It's still true.  Ave Maria is playing on my classical holiday channel.  Despite difficulties that don't disappear just because it's Christmas (Post "Healthy Attitudes, Part XIV, Mental Health, 11/7/19), all is well.  I hope for you too.  

This poem is one of my favorites.  It was first published on Christmas Eve 1915 in the London Times, in the midst of WWI.  My grandfather was in that war, stationed in France.  Imagine, soldiers fighting and dying all over Europe.  Not so different from today when many countries are war-torn and refugees are on the move.  Not so different from the time of Mary and Joseph.

The Oxen
by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen kneel,
"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so. 

A 'barton' is a farm building and a 'coomb' is a small valley.  Hardy seems to be saying that one Christmas Eve as a child he sat by the fire and listened to one of the elders tell of the oxen kneeling before the Christ child.  Now he wonders how many people still believe such a fancy, that the oxen would know to kneel in reverence before the child.  But he hasn't given up hope that it was so.  The manger, the birth, the holy child, the traditions and customs of old.  For myself, I too would "go with him in the gloom, knowing it would be so."   

 

ADVENT

Only five more nights 'till Christmas Eve.  Every year seems to be different than the last.  Last year I was laid up post-surgery.  Missed Advent, concerts, shopping, cooking . . . you name it, I missed it.  This year we decorated our tree early, started our gift selecting on time and I even got the Christmas pages of my collage book up-to-date.  A fire, music, a grandchild and collaging makes for the most relaxing hour.  Homework done, she sketches while I cut and paste.  We share gummies while we work.  That's simple living! I love it.

 

I remember when I was practicing law full-time I'd call my mom, a retired history teacher, and she'd be enjoying an afternoon sit-down, wrapping gifts and baking her famous lace cookies.  I couldn't imagine that kind of leisure.  For awhile I didn't even envy it; it seemed decadent somehow, not a productive use of time. I'd be driving home from the office and she and my dad had eaten already. She'd spent the whole day without an adrenaline surge; I wasn't ready for that. 

I didn't see that she had lived decades without the time for a hobby, that until she retired she had to squeeze in her grandparenting time with my children.  I didn't see her life then as a well-deserved respite from the hundreds of students she had lovingly taught, as time for her to be herself, with only the demands she created.  

My mom died at 82 after a twenty-year retirement.  She learned to quilt and won prizes.  She and my dad moved to a small beach community where she joined book groups, the library board and a out-reach group for newcomers. She read and re-read history non-stop.  My parents had more time then to appreciate the rest of the family and to show love to one another.  They had time to watch the winter sun set over the ocean. My husband and I on the other hand, were meshing our travel schedules.  I was grateful for airports that had some good gift-buying options.  Does that ring a bell?  Are you there now?  I could shop for the Christmas dinner fixings, get the kid's and adult's tables set, scoop the torn wrapping paper into trash bags and fall asleep all on a moment's notice. Is that where you are?  What are your "then and now" Christmases like?  How have they changed?

Actually it's all good, isn't it?  My niece has 4-year-old twins.  During the Christmas pageant one of them had his fingers in his ears.  Her household reminds us why we have children when we are young.  My oldest grandson has never once said he needed or wanted anything.  All his gifts are surprises.  Our younger grandson plans to build a computer.  His list of component parts is quite lengthy. Our granddaughter just asked for anything soft.  I'm pretty much on that wavelength.  

I hope your last week of Advent is going at least somewhat the way you'd like it to.  I'm looking forward to hearing the Angels Sing on High the nearer we get to Christmas.  In Christ, Nina Naomi 

CONTENTMENT BY THE WINTER SEA

Today the sea is loud. I took Mr. Wiggles for his walk.  He's a malti-poo who was in foster care here when I found him.  So he's not afraid of the ocean, little guy that he is.  Off-leash, that's his treat.  

The noise comes from every direction.  The crashing right in front of me with the gray waves curling up and over, but then different sounds, deeper and steadier to the left and right, up and down the beach. Synchronized.  The air is damp and cool and close.  I didn't need my scarf or gloves.  I hope you're someplace today that you like, where you can have a short (or long) walk or run. Or something to listen to or watch that takes your attention and holds it. Something in nature.  Winter is good for that.  

Mary Oliver (1935-2019) says,

The sea is the most beautiful face in the universe.

She wrote, 

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth, it can lie down like silk breathing or toss havoc shoreward; it can give gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can sweet-talk entirely.  As I can too, and so, no doubt, can you, and you. 

So I'm content again and hope you are too.  Contentment is richer than joy, that comes in spurts, surprising us.  Contentment I think builds and is more likely to last. It's part of our relationship with ourselves. I'm thinking we can even be content, so to speak, if we're not happy.  There are times, events that we don't expect to be happy about but may still be content knowing that we are doing the best we can, or that someone else is. Or that the unhappiness is a natural part of life. 

When I saw those dolphin leaping, tail and all (Post,"Happening All at Once," 12/8/19), I felt an instant response, a reaction to the moment--happiness.  A kind of giddiness almost.  Today is more serene.  Does the distinction matter?  Both are good.  One enfolds, one lifts.  Both are blessings, all are blessings--joy, happiness, satisfaction, contentment.  And at least this weekend all have been here at the sea, overlapping like the waves themselves.  I didn't have to do anything, just walk the dog and look and listen.  I bet looking and listening is the key.  As we learn in mindfulness training, keeping an open heart.  




 

"DO MORE OF THAT"

"YOU KNOW HOW EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE

YOU DO SOMETHING AND THE LITTLE

VOICE INSIDE SAYS, 'THERE. THAT'S

IT.  THAT'S WHY YOU'RE HERE' ... AND

YOU GET A WARM GLOW IN YOUR HEART

BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT'S TRUE?

DO MORE OF THAT."

Jacob Nordby

Now that's a Christmas gift!  Let's give it to ourselves right now!