My room of peace.
Guilt and fear at times wrap their unwelcome arms around me.
I long to be more, do more, exude more.
It seems as if to paralyze me, this feeling.
But the Christmas tree goes up with the lights.
Oh the lights.
And I sit in that room. The front room. The house's center.
And my girl and I, we read. I cry. She gazes upwards to my tears.
In part:
The Three Kings
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
..."His mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.
They laid their offerings at his feet:
The gold was their tribute to a King,
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body's burying.
And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone;
Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the Angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David's throne..."
This is how I feel so often. Troubled yet comforted. Such a dichotomy of my soul.
I can't even imagine the feelings of Mary's heart as she watched the "even flow of her baby's breath" knowing what she knew. I guess it just hit me near the light of my tree. What we are celebrating. And it takes my breath away.
May we all have the peace of the Savior in this glorious season of hope and love.
