December 2024 – innerwoven

It’s the last day of the year. ‘Finally’, say some. ‘Big deal’, say others. We seem to really love these arbitrary chronologies; new leaf-page turns, as it were. Any opportunity, either actual or manufactured by which to measure ourselves against the cosmic yardstick of success. “Let’s see how we did,” we tell ourselves, “with the three hundred and sixty five chances we were just given.”

Were we good enough? Did our decisions prove correct enough, or at least useful enough? Are we “better off” now than we were when last we stood at this threshold? Aren’t these the same questions we asked this time last year.

Well, s**t.

Whatever one believes about New Year celebrations and the random significance we may or may not foist upon them, allow me to share a few clear reliables.

However one may feel about one’s place in the world comparative to last year, our belovedness remains unchanged. God, apparently (and sometimes, on our off days, with little reason), is rather fond of us. Each one is deeply loved and cherished. As much now as last year. Have hope.
Whatever chaos, cares, or calamities we faced in 2024, with the coming year there are still the kernels of hope planted deep in the soil of grace. God’s abiding presence with all of us does not change on the altar of a Roman calendar. It is always total, unchanging, and calendarless. Have hope.
Whatever plans we made, course we charted, intentions we implemented (or not) that came to naught, our worth is determined by things much less measurable than platitudes, promises, plans, or productivity. We are forever children of God, loved unreasonably well and with unseasonable consistency. Have hope.
Similarly, as one well-versed in shoulding all over myself on a pile of ripe could-would, whatever resolutions I make for the coming year may, no, will reflect the light of Christ in me, not some perceived darkness into which I may trudge, knowingly or unknowingly, willingly or not. We are all so much more than resolutions made or broken, promises made and kept (or not), hopes realized or dashed. Have hope.

So then, having just finished my final cappuccino of 2024, I sit before my journal not with the pen of guilt, embarrassment, or self-abasement but with joy, gratitude, and expectation happily swimming in the blessing and presence of God. That is the spirit in which I choose to bid adieu to this year.

I crane my neck and shove my not-so-inconspicuous nose forward into whatever 2025 smells like. And, whatever it is I smell is not for me to say. Instead, it is for me – for us, simply to breathe in, greeting it all with gratitude and a whispered prayer for those who will never have opportunity to do the same.

Here’s to Hogmanay hopefulness and a happy, and honest, 2025.

Poetry is a great love of mine. I’ve maintained a literary-poetics website for years. But, I’m aware poetry isn’t everyone’s cuppa. “Just give it to me straight” some might say. “No more u’ them goofy met-what-fers and twisted talk.”

Our complex, gloriously chaotic cosmos has rarely been straight forward. Nothing is really as it seems. What we see isn’t just what we see but a thousand other things unseen, unimagined, unrealized, unforgotten, and undertaken. The thing is never just the thing. Every thing houses, pictures, reflects, spawns other things beyond itself. Look at a sandwich from directly above and one sees a slice of bread. Take a slow look downward and to the side and the rest of the picture comes into delicious, three-dimensional view. What starts as rather dull becomes kaleidoscopic in the searching. One thing becomes many new, and colourful things.

If clear, simple, logical, non-symbolic language is what you’re after, avoid the Bible. Close to a third of its contents is versified in some fashion, poetry and allegory and metaphor. A great deal of it is narrative, eternal truths and values conveyed by means of story.

I conclude with a poem I composed a couple years ago that was recently highlighted on one of my favourite websites. It plays with the idea of more from less as described above. Thanks for being here with me and, until then, may the Advent spirit of expectation and preparedness capture you.

Advent

Cup before the pour, cocoa, or tea.

Clouds, rain-swollen, before taking their moment.

Hearts before words, warm and rightly spoken.

Page before pen, story pushing out to meet its maker.

Inside, a child gazes out at virgin snow.

Child, new and eyes closed, before the first embrace.

Car, keys jangling in shaky hands, before first welcome.

Night, old and disheveled, before day-gates open.

Gravitas, bodies’ ache, release of first touch.

Eyes, leaden-lidded, before the thick of sleep.

Tired world, sore of woe, looks East.