FOREVER HOME (a Christmas story for Brinley)

            “Blessed is the season, which engages the whole world in a                              conspiracy of love….” – Hamilton Wright Mabi

Snow. It fell that Christmas Eve. In the quiet of the day, and early night. Candles burning in shining windows. So quiet. So  beautiful. So lost she was in their light. In the white world beyond the place where she belonged. Her dreams engulfing her in a warm embrace.

Brinley (photo credit Suzanne Smith)

 Lost. Not so long ago.....or so far away. On a moonless night, such as this. A magical night.  Just stars above and heaven below. Showing her the way on sweet ,new snow.

Footfalls soft and gentle. Snow  whispering on her lashes. Eyes lifted up to the darkening forest, dense and overgrown. So alone was she. 

Branches dripping and dragging. Crystals sprinkling  from  sky torches held aloft, above the trees. That endless sky of starlight shine. Night of nights. She stepped carefully,  as not to disturb the loveliness.

She remembered a warm fire. Candlelight  glow. Peace and endless love. And The Dog. She had not forgotten him. The Dog she loved so well. Curled up by the fire. And she. Waiting for angels.  Gentle voices, telling her she was loved, beyond all measure.

She was drawn out into that world of icy white velvet. Where were the angels. Where did they go......

Tranquil night of her heart. She was lost in the soothing, still air, catching snowflakes , dancing before her. She felt beautiful.........

The angels spoke in quiet words. Above the snow and stars. She closed her eyes, imagining herself home. To be home at last. Forever. For she was lost in the galaxy, searching for her way.

                                          

To be safe and cherished. Forever. To be loved. In the darkness she heard  her angels whispering again. Somewhere in this cold night. Where were they....

          For she was lost. Mountains towered before , wrapping her path in forbidden fog......

 

 

 To be without fear at last. To be home. To be at journey's end. She wondered a lot of these things. Keeping her thoughts close to her heart. 

Once more she heard the angels. They were close this time. Very close. She twirled in the soft snow, feeling warm arms scooping  her up. Holding  her up to their hearts. This night of nights. 

 "The true spirit of Christmas is love...."  -Linda Willis

For the rest of Christmas Eve, she stayed by her window, in the warmth of the fire, with the Dog snoring blissfully beside her. She saw the last star fade away, then morning shone over the horizon. She still heard the angel voices. Sweet and low. Surrounding her. For that would never fade. Now she was truly home. ....

“Angels come down, with Christmas in their hearts, Gentle, whimsical, laughing, heaven-sent; And, for a day, fair Peace have given me.” —Vachel Lindsay

Photographs 2024  with thanks to Suzanne S. and Peter G. 

Stay tuned for more stories in 2025......

Merry Christmas, with love......

          Brinley (photo credit Suzanne Smith)

 

THE SOCKS.....

"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a Light to my path..." -Psalm 119:105

 It was the night Mother darned our socks. Those well worn socks.  By lamplight. As we watched. In  low burning light.

Trying to be good. This Christmas Eve. Pretending to sleep. Trying not to giggle. 

"Not believe in Santa Claus!You might as well not believe in fairies..." -F. P. Church

                                                        

1950's

Imagining an orange in the toe, nuts, maybe some candies, and a book. Oh let there please be a book! For each of us!

1950 Victoria

Stuffed into those socks. Those patched socks. Chosen with care. Fire crackled merrily, in the wood stove. It sang its own songs.

1940's Bethune. Davey.

 "In the same way, let your light shine before others..." 

                                                                                               -Matthew 5:16

1930's Bethune Xmas

Mother hummed, as she sewed. Father dozed  with his pipe.

It was a gentle peace. Like no other.

horse and snow

We tried to not think about Christmas morning.  The feast to come. …potatoes, shredded cabbage, mincemeat. Those socks…

Finally,  last stitch. Ready to place  on the kitchen table.

1938 December journal

Near the fire. Not too close, though.  Ready for the magic. 

Xmas 1920's

The four of us drifted off, in the cabin. Warm and safe.

xmas 1920 

Dreaming of simple treasures . Of excitement and wonder. 

As the years rambled on, needle and thread fell silent for good, and the pipe, unlit,  lay on the mantle.  

Isobel, Grandmother, Mum 1940's

The Light which  came into the world, came to us, in that small cabin. 

Stuart and Bill 1930's

A fire still sings,  each Christmas eve. 

1960's Victoria xmas

Those socks. Still patched and stitched  with thread.  Wait for us.

xmas eve

Filled with light.  Not so far away. Not so long ago…

1950's Bethune xmas

"There was the true Light which, coming into the world, enlightens every one...."- John 1: 9-13

Photographs ( family vintage) 2024

 

GLORY...(Christmas story)

"On Christmas Eve the bells were rung...." -Sir Walter Scott

Above the hills, the sun fell on broken mountains, bowing  to the  darkness that swallowed everything in its path. It left only a gleam  of  gold touching the horizon.

Skiffs of snow swirled  over craggy peaks, a promise of winter. So cold , thought he, as he stood out in the blackness. He longed for peace today. Too many people . Something howled as the moon rose and a single star  shone  insistently. He grudgingly began walking, muttering to himself about how  annoyed he was to be out this late.  His lantern faltered .  

 He wrapped his heavy cloak around his head.  Wind whipped at  his feet. Biting cold. His lantern was the only comfort he  brought. Little solace for him.

 He was drawn to the light in the sky.  The way was long and arduous. He wanted to be anywhere but here. And yet he had to be here. In the night. With the star.

Just that one star piercing the sky like diamonds. 

 He complained to the wind about his lot in life, while the star flamed over his head.

Wind blew with a fragrance he did not recognize. Sweet. Pungent . He breathed it in. 

The star led him  into the  hills.  To a place he used to play as a  boy. Long ago, when he was young and the world seemed new. Now he was old and had forgotten . So forgotten.

The star did not leave him. "Glory...."he heard, somewhere beyond the beyond. "Glory...."it sang again.

He knew it at once. A place of refuge .  A place that he  had come before as a child with his friends to play. It was a poor place. A safe place. It was his old place.

The star stopped over that  quiet, dark place now bathed in light.  He saw them there. The two of them. She  held a  baby, newly born. It wailed  to the new  world.

"Glory," he heard singing somewhere out of the dark. On this night of nights. He shivered. Not with the cold.  

He was the first to arrive in this place. This lovely, special place. He could not speak. His words would not come. The baby fussed, as babies are want to do.  

His eyes met hers. She smiled and touched his shaking hands. "Glory..." he heard from far away.

He did not know this child, but he felt the child knew him.   "Glory" sang from the star into the night. He no longer felt tired or old, but new again. So new.

Others came . Others  who were curious. Others drawn by the star. And still others wrapped in velvets and wore crowns, and had travelled  from afar. They bowed down and gave  "Glory..."

 He had no gift. So he gave them his lantern to hang up high and shed light in this place. This wild , poor place .

The star  moved on, close to morning. It was time for him to leave. It was time to return.  He had been the first to arrive. Now he was the last to leave.

   On that bleak winter's night, when the world was new again,  when  he saw heaven in the sky.....

 Photographs 2023