The Gloaming

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

 

 

After day is done,
before night has begun,
a somber-sweet hour —
a deep breath, regathering,
returning to the center

~ Rebekah Choat

 

 

 

 

The Storming of the Fortress

Words hard as stone bombard the castle walls,
hurled with precision to break my defense,
all heedless of the wintry rain that falls.
A breach is opened in the outer fence.

The gate shivers beneath unflinching blows,
and soon the dauntless warrior gains the keep.
I hide myself, but all too well he knows
the passages that lead into the deep

and lightless chamber where my soul would stay
in silent shadows rather than surrender.
His footsteps near, and now the door gives way.
His grip is strong — but, oh, his voice is tender!

I give myself up; finally I see:
he frees me from myself, in spite of me.

~ Rebekah Choat

 

Tuesday’s Word: remember

remember (v): to bring to mind or think of again; to retain in the memory

“Remembering is hard,” Pastor Preston said in his sermon a few weeks ago. It’s a truth borne out not only by the anecdotes of his own forgetfulness; most of us have at least occasional lapses of memory, brought to our attention by the officer who tickets us for our expired auto registration, or the friend who calls to say she’s been waiting fifteen minutes already at the meeting place we agreed on last Friday. We remember, right after the smoke alarm goes off, that the cookies need to come out of the oven; we’re jolted from near sleep when we realize, as we check off the accomplishments of the day, that we forgot to send our mother-in-law a birthday card.

Ann Voskamp, in One Thousand Gifts, muses that ‘remembering is an act of thanksgiving, a way of thanksgiving, this turn of the heart over time’s shoulder to see all the long way His arms have carried us.’ This is the kind of remembering Preston wanted to direct us toward that Sunday before Thanksgiving; the practice of being mindful, of remembering how many things we forget to say ‘thank you’ for throughout the year, throughout our lives. It is good to be exhorted to recall with gratitude the many blessings we so often fail to count.

But for many people, remembering is hard in a different way, more pronouncedly during the holidays than at other times of year. The problem for them is not that they don’t remember – it’s that they do, in stark, vivid detail. In their minds, images of happy families gathering on the television screen are overwritten with mental home movies of domestic dysfunction; displays of abundance are reminders of lack; cheery music is drowned out by the roar of hurtful words whose echoes never fade.

I’ve spent more than one Christmas season in the depths of depression myself; yet, even with my experience there, I can’t give an authoritative answer to the question of how to help someone for whom this time of year is tough. One size doesn’t fit all.

Going out with friends may be uplifting for one person, while it’s just too much effort for another. ‘Retail therapy’ might feel like a trip directly through Hell for some. Being welcomed to a boisterous Christmas party could revitalize others. The bright, jingly songs that make one feel better may make another want to scream.

Practical assistance is valuable in some cases. Taking someone’s car to get the oil changed could shorten his impossible to-do list enough to give him a little breathing space. An overwhelmed mother might be more grateful than you can imagine if you would take her kids to see Santa along with yours.

Emotional support is sometimes more important. Talking through old hurts with a sympathetic listener is often a necessary step toward healing, as is feeling safe enough with someone to share secret fears and hidden shame. An answering voice on the phone at 2:00 a.m. can be a very real lifeline.

In the end, I think it all comes down to presence. It can probably never be said enough times: the assurance that you are not alone somehow makes just about anything more bearable. If you know someone who is struggling this season, making yourself available – really, truly, physically and emotionally available – to them, in whatever capacity they need, may well be the gift that gets them through.

Contentment

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

 

This has been an extraordinary year for me, encompassing devastating lows and dizzying highs and various points between. Both the heights and the depths, I see in retrospect, have been vantage points which offered me views of aspects of myself and my path that I might not have recognized from any other perspective. But the intensity of neither the agonies, thank God, nor the ecstasies can be maintained for prolonged periods of time, and as the year winds down, the earth yielding its treasures and discarding its detritus before its season of rest, I find a sense of the rightness of it all, richer than I’ve felt before, enwrapping me in a deep and comfortable peace.

 

Contentment flickers in these home-hearth flames
of gentle warmth and softly-glowing light.
It whispers through the murmur of the names
we call each other as we say good night.

When we climb into bed it tucks us in
and sings to us as we drift off to sleep –
no fears for what may come or might have been,
just simple trust that Love our souls will keep.

It greets us, fresh and fragrant, in the dawn
and walks with us the path of this day’s grace,
finding its joy in common things, homespun –
a quilt, a chair, a dear familiar face;

underpinning the cadence of our living,
it draws us to the great dance of thanksgiving.

 ~ Rebekah Choat

 

 

Thanksgiving

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

Is this one short November day all we can spare
to think of and give thanks for gifts beyond all count?
Too soon the coming season’s pressures start to mount –
just for today can we choose to set by our care?

To be all here, this moment, just to breathe this air,
to savor this day’s grace, to catch the murmured sound
of music in the voices of those who surround
this table, taste the joy in this meal that we share?

Let us be centered in the circle where we are,
with eyes to see the simple pleasures all around,
hearts whole and open to the blessings of this place;
keep kinship with friends gathered here and scattered far,
be mindful that we stand always on hallowed ground,
in gratefulness for solid underpinning grace.

 ~ Rebekah Choat

Another Sunday morning

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

Another Sunday morning comes
And I resume the standing Sabbath
Of the woods, where the finest blooms
Of time return, and where no path

Is worn but wears its makers out
At last, and disappeares in leaves
Of fallen seasons. The tracked rut
Fills and levels; here nothing grieves

In the risen season. Past life
Lives in the living. Resurrection
Is in the way each maple leaf
Commemorates its kind, by connection

Outreaching understanding. What rises
Rises into comprehension
And beyond. Even falling raises
In praise of light. What is begun

Is unfinished. And so the mind
That comes to rest among the bluebells
Comes to rest in motion, refined
By alteration. The bud swells,

Opens, makes seed, falls, is well,
Being becoming what it is:
Miracle and parable
Exceeding thought, because it is

Immeasurable; the understander
Encloses understanding, thus
Darkens the light. We can stand under
No ray that is not dimmed by us.

The mind that comes to rest is tended
In ways that it cannot intend;
Is borne, preserved, and comprehended
By what it cannot comprehend.

Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by
Your will, not ours, And it is fit
Our only choice should be to die
Into that rest, or out of it.

~ Wendell Berry