Greetings WW Family! Weekly Written will be taking a break, beginning tomorrow through the New Year, to enjoy this season’s festivities with family and friends.
This is the time of year when it’s easy to get lost in the hype of commercialism and forget the true reason for the season. It’s the time of year when we make merry and embrace family and friends a little tighter; remembering all those we wish were still here. It’s the time we gaze in the warm lights tucked in fir, as we reflect upon the tidings of this passing year and hoping the New Year will find us not just to be humbly blessed, but be prosperous as blessings to others.
There is no story I could write that would be worthy of the one we know that celebrates our King; our Prince of peace. So, as we go about our days, checking off lists, let us find time to remember, to rejoice and to glorify Him—Luke 2:8-14…truly, that’s what it’s all about.
Wishing you all a joyous season.
Merry Christmas and may your New Year be filled with blessings of health, peace and love.
In the heavenly sea, white clouds swirl against the vivid blue; whispering a promise of better days.
Upon the air, the breeze unfurls all that I am, lifting my heart and freeing my mind; new hope ignites.
Higher, forever reaching, my dreams soar into the starry abyss; surpassing any imagination I could ever possess.
Shining brightly, rebuking the darkness, sits a mansion where were all call home; His Word commands and His breath tears sprit from flesh…making me forever whole.
Before the jeweled gate, I recognize my name; an embracing note, amongst the light and praise, where glory and worship reigns.
There, peace and and love are everywhere. It is there that I know—just past the sea of clouds, upon the humble streets of gold, is where my footsteps will always fall and never be alone.
Tomorrow morning will be yet another festive gathering around this ol’ table. It’s sturdy and welcoming, like those who gather around it. Standing here, looking out at the linens and such, I remember my first Thanksgiving prayer; our hands joined and heads bowed.
After we said grace, the family took turns sharing their grateful hearts. When it was my turn, Granddaddy asked me, “Nickie, what are you thankful for?” I replied, “I’m thankful for the turkey. I’m grateful for the pumpkin pie. And, I like the black olives I can put on my fingers.” And, as the laughter flowed, Daddy stood and began to carve the turkey.
There’s nothing better than to be together, laughing and loving. And for those no longer with us, we bring them to the table through tall stories and favorite recipes— all savory memories that we wish we could have a second helping of.
Ah, the memories…. Like everyone, I have many to cherish: my Mama’s wedding ring, Grandaddy’s pocket watch and countless photos that take me back to simpler days, where I can still feel that same young spirit within this old soul. At my bedside table, I have a small box that I’ve had since I was seven—inside, a feather and it’s magic that I will forever hold.
Yes, a feather.
Like I said, I was seven; which was many moons ago. But, when I open that box, it whisks me back to an unseasonably cold Thanksgiving day….
It might have been Fall, but “Winter decided to blow ol’ Tom an early kiss”, as Daddy said. The winds blew and the flakes swirled, which just made our hearts grow warmer—reminding us that while the food feeds the flesh, it’s God’s love that feeds the soul.
The house fell quiet after everyone had gone home. I sat staring out the window thinking of all the food and fun we had. The streetlights captured the wild and wispy flurries as they fell, vanishing as soon as they touched down. Suddenly, there was a gust of wind and something hit against the window. I looked down at the ground and saw something….a cardinal. Brown and red; a female.
My eyes instantly overflowed with tears as a mournful scream escaped me; summonings my parents to run in, to see what had happened. While they were thankful nothing was physically wrong, they could see how shaken I was. Mama held me close, as we watched Daddy outside scooping up the bird and putting her in a box. My heart was shattered.
As Daddy came into the house, he put the box near the fireplace. We stood there watching as he nudged her in hopes for a sign of life; but nothing. I just remember closing my eyes, taking in a slow deep breath and raising my head up and saying, “Lord, please touch this sweet soul who brings so much joy.” As my breath released in an easy sigh, seemingly taking my last tear, my dad picked her up; whispering reassuringly, “There she is. She’s a little stunned, but I think she’s gonna be alright….just need to keep her warm for a little while.”
We all took turns through the night checking on “Mrs. C”, who rested comfortably upon a soft, cozy towel. We put an old window screen on top so she couldn’t fly out. As I went over to take a peek, something caught my attention from outside the window. I looked over and saw a spot of red. There he was, “Mr. C”, chirping away; he knew she was inside. Despite the weather, he waited there vigilantly. Through the walls and the wind, his song raised; finding peace in the hand that held the world.
With the passing hours, Mrs. C finally regained most of her vim and vigor. Dawn was just now breaking; a beautiful, sunny day would warm the bones. And, “Mr. C” was still sitting outside the window, waiting for his bride. Daddy thought it was as good a time as any to help her along home. Removing the screen, he took the box out and laid it on its side. He gently fluffed the towel and tossed in a few nuts and berries.
Their chirps were constant; quick and sharp. Daddy stood back and waited. In a blink, “Mr. C” swept down and alit at the edge of the box. Then, without hesitation, right on in he hopped. They sat there, together, sharing and caring. Two grateful hearts. Two grateful souls. After a little while, they were gone; leaving behind a feather…a gentle reminder of the magic of true love and true prayer.
Those feel good memories are always best, but with a busy day just hours away, the moon tells me it’s time for bed. But, before I tuck in, I take the little box out of the drawer and open it up. Therein lies the humble memory—a feather from a little bird who was in fragile despair. Her mate, so gallant and his pleading song, unwavering. And a child’s shattered heart, overcome by her innate faith…knowing there was “something” greater beyond earth’s spell.
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