Tag Archives: believe

Quite a Start

35 Replies

I thought I felt a hand,

Upon my shoulder rest.

I never would have thought . . .

Perhaps I should have guessed.

I turned to see this person,

Who quietly had approached.

I had in mind a word,

To be used as I reproached!

But then I had a feeling,

A joy within my heart.

No one was behind me,

That gave me quite a start!

Then I felt a presence,

It started with a hug.

Then I felt a blessing,

And my heart a little tug.

Just before me stood,

What I could not see.

But my soul knew differently,

It was the Holy Three.

I was in their arms,

Safe within their love.

They will always be,

A presence from above.

April’s Showers

44 Replies

She hated her name, she hated this month, and above all she hated this rain! April clutched her handbag a little tighter to her chest as well as her slightly damp newspaper. It was just a few more steps before she could get out of this relentless rain and into her nice, warm coffee shop.

With a sigh April sat down at her usual table and smiled at the waitress. She knew what April always ordered and she would bring her a coffee and a warm croissant just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. When her coffee arrived April wrapped her chilly hands around the cup and breathed in the hot steaming aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It was coffee, it wasn’t a Grande non-fat latte with soy milk and half fat hazelnut vanilla shavings or something else bizarre. It was just coffee: good old black, strong coffee. For the first time that day she sighed and allowed herself to relax.

This was the time of day April enjoy above all else. She could sit and relax over her cup of coffee, she could read the paper, and she could think about the day’s events: what she wanted to do, what she should do, and what she had done. As she was sipping her coffee and nibbling on her croissant the door opened and with it came a nasty, cold wet wind. And all April could do was think about how much she hated this month and shiver.

The person that came through the door and intruded on April’s musing was a man. Physically he was an attractive man: tall, well-built, muscular. But he had one glaring imperfection: he was smiling! The first words out of his mouth were the dreaded words that April had been hearing her whole life:

“April showers bring May flowers!” The man smiled and shook his umbrella causing more drops of cold water to infest the room. “I would like a cup of very hot, very strong, very ordinary coffee, if I may.”

April cringed, he was a happy man.

“I must admit I absolutely love the April showers.” The man positively exuded well-being. “The rain washes the world clean and leaves it smelling like spring. What could be more uplifting than a rainy day in spring?”

The waitress behind the counter chuckled to herself. She glanced over at April knowing full well that April was not a happy person in the morning and she didn’t enjoy other people being happy in the morning either. It seemed to interfere with her most comfortable state of miserable.

If the gentleman in question had simply picked up his coffee and exited the café the day would have continued in exactly the same manner as it always had. But this gentleman decided to stay and enjoy his coffee. He looked around the room and saw only one customer. Like a predator sensing fresh meat he moved towards April’s table.

“Excuse me Miss may I join you?” He asked pleasantly enough.

Without raising her head she replied, “I prefer to be alone, thank you.” Her answer was curt but not impolite.

“Nonsense, no one should drink their coffee alone.” And the man sat.

April looked up, too shocked to actually say anything. For the first time in her life her mind was blank. There was no witty retort on the tip of her tongue to spew forth and lash at this intrusive stranger. All she could do was stare and hope that the disdain on her face was clearly visible.

“As I said no one should drink their coffee alone and certainly not a beautiful woman.” He was still smiling. “And my name is Bill.”

April couldn’t stop staring. She knew that in polite company she should smile demurely and offer him her name. But she couldn’t do it. If she told him her name he would say what a thousand other people have said to her in that same happy tone: ‘April showers bring May flowers!’ She hated her name! She did consider coming up with an alias on the spot, something like Hermione or Persephone. But she couldn’t do it. She sighed, it was her lot in life and she was honest enough to accept the consequences.

“My name is April.”

As she said her name, April looked down at her coffee, her half eaten croissant and her unopened paper. She didn’t want to see the look on his face as he said those horrible words she had grown to hate. But one second turned in to two and then three and still he said nothing. So April raised her head and looked at him.

“I know what it’s like to have a name that is used in other contexts. I get called the bill collector, or asked if I have heard the joke about the Billboard. I could use the named William but it gives people pleasure to make silly little jokes about my name and it doesn’t cost me anything. People need a little silly in their lives and I am actually quite honoured that I can put a smile on someone’s face. It does get a little tedious sometimes but it’s still a smile.

April grimaced, “I find it tedious all the time! The rain is unceasing. The damp makes my hair frizzy, my clothes get wet, my feet are constantly cold and for someone to come up to me and sing that silly song about showers and May flowers it’s horrible!”

Bill took a sip of his steaming coffee and pondered what she had said for just a moment.

“Actually I think it’s quite wonderful that you remind people of the beauty that comes about because of the rain in April. You could say you’re an icon that helps people to remember the beauty that’s out there and that will soon be all around us because it’s the beginning of spring. I would think you’d be quite pleased.”

April heaved a sigh and shook her head.

“How can you be so happy with such horrible things going on in the world? People are dying in other countries for political agendas we can’t fully understand. People are getting mugged on the street for $20 in their wallet. There are starving children in this city not just in other countries of the world and we sit here drinking our coffee as if nothing was wrong. How can you justify that?”

Bill’s smile wavered just a fraction and he shook his head. “You can never justify the horrible things that are going on in the world. You can support the agencies that help those who are most in need. And you can honour those who are fighting to protect our way of life. You can live your life to the fullest and never forget that there were those who gave up their lives so that you and I could sit here and drink a cup of coffee in relative peace and security.”

April grasped her almost empty coffee cup tighter, her croissant and paper completely forgotten. “I can’t just shut off my mind with all the horrible things that are going on outside that door.” April was exasperated that this man didn’t understand. What right did she have to be happy?

Bill stared at this obviously distraught woman. There was more wrong here than just a individual’s dislike of a song. She was so caught up in what was wrong, evil, and hateful that she was missing the most important thing of all. He couldn’t leave this woman wallowing in this state, he had to open her eyes and make her see.

“April, I have just met you. Out of the blue I chose to walk into this café to sit at this table and to speak to you. Don’t you find it interesting that I would choose to come in today? I’ve walked by this café, a hundred times and never thought twice about coming in. But today of all days, I did. Maybe it was the rain that brought me in. Maybe you and I were meant to meet. Maybe in 50 years we will be telling our grandchildren about how I picked you up in a café.” Bill smile was quite lopsided at this point.

At first April was too stunned to respond. But somewhere deep inside her she did respond to this very strange, very attractive man. Somewhere deep inside her a smile was trying to burst through.

“Grandchildren? Now how do I know you’ve got the right stuff?”

Bill’s smile became even bigger. He knew he had made inroads.

“Is that a smile I see creeping up the side of your mouth? If it is, it is, I know it is, April you are smiling!”

April was almost smiling. Her hands were clutched around her coffee cup as if she was holding onto an anchor, trying desperately not to give in. She took a sip, and then looked up at her table companion.

“I know I tend to see the negative side of things, but we can never forget that the negative does exists.”

For the first time since he sat down at the table Bill stopped smiling.

“You are absolutely right April, we can never forget what horrible things are going on in this world. But it’s also very important that we never forget what an incredible world we actually have. There are good people here. Everywhere you turn. We should never turn a blind eye to what is bad in the world. In the same token, we must never turn a blind eye or be afraid to acknowledge that beautiful things exist. The simple act of the sun rising in the morning and its rays reflecting off the dew on a rose petal should make us give thanks.”

April looked at this strange man, this strange intruder, and she did smile. Maybe he was right. Maybe we need to be aware of the bad things in the world and focus on the good. It was raining today and it was cold. Maybe tomorrow the sun would shine. Maybe today was not the best of all days, but tomorrow might be. Maybe the showers did bring something good, something positive. There’s another song that April thought of at that moment. She didn’t remember the name of the song or who sang it. But there was one line: “. . . accentuate the positive.” That was a good thought.

Just at that moment, the rain stopped, and a ray of sunshine poked through the clouds. The sun and the rain work hand-in-hand. Just like we all should.

Two strangers met at a table in a café on a rainy April day, but parted as friends, smiling.

A Curious Child

27 Replies

A child once sat at her mother’s knee,

And asked that tales be told.

Of God and Jesus and Angels true,

A world she could behold.

A tender age, a tender mind,

She loved the tales of God.

A gentle Father to us all,

A Son who once was flawed.

The tales she heard so long ago,

They stayed within her heart.

And formed the woman she became,

I think she’s pretty smart.

The mother passed on to her rest,

The child grew up to be.

For you know, so long ago,

That curious child was me.

Of My Dreams

33 Replies

The age of Heroes has gone by,

The shining armour’s tarnished.

Dragons are nowhere to be found,

And the Damsel is a Duke.

Values weak and morals loose,

Vulgarity becomes the norm.

People fight over silly names,

And kill for a pair of shoes.

Now just sit back and take in stock,

Of frightening pictures painted.

We can escape to distant fires,

A place to live again.

Where grass is green and never smoked,

Where men are strong and women true.

This is a place to rest your brow,

This valley of my dreams.

An Emotional Hoarder

41 Replies

I recently posted a poem that I had written about how we need to let go of the baggage we carry around. It’s true. And I am guilty, so guilty. On one of the comments, I responded that I was an emotional hoarder. I really am. I remember a slight I was given when I was five years old, maybe. I was going to the first meeting of a Brownie troop and one of the leaders looked at my fingernails and said, and I quote, “You bite your nails! That is a filthy, dirty, disgusting habit.!” I was five. Of course, there was no recording of the comment so it is entirely possible that I have blown it out of proportion in my memory. But what I have not blown out of proportion is how I felt. That is a memory that will not fade. Because I internalized it. I never went back to that troop. And you know, it still hurts. I no longer bite my nails. But why do I think of that, why do I remember that? Why am I carrying that baggage?

I am also a physical hoarder, albeit a tidy one. I’ve lived in the same place for almost 30 years so I have a lot of boxes full of a lot of stuff. I have figurines that I was collecting when I was a child, think single digits. I think of it as mindful clutter. I have pieces of paper that I wrote in university and that was many decades ago. Recently I’ve been going through those boxes looking at the things I have kept and wondering why? Why would I save a piece of paper with three words that have no meaning to me now. But they must’ve been important once upon a time.

I think I do that with bad memories as well. Why do we hang onto those? I want to remember the good stuff! I think I do but I not sure I give it as much weight as I do the negative. And that is my failing. I think there’ll always be a part of me that wonders if I am good enough or smart enough or pretty enough or… just enough. And I also think we all go through the same thing. But I’m starting to realize that I am enough. Of course, some days I am more than enough. Thankfully there’s only one of me in the world, I don’t think the universe could handle two!

Rainbow Moments

29 Replies

A second in time,

Never before seen.

But special the colour,

In blue, red and green.

So very dear,

And then it is gone.

But the memory remains,

With each breath that is drawn.

A vision in colour,

It plays in your mind.

Your life becomes better,

The memory entwined.

Believe in yourself,

Be the best you can be.

And those moments of rainbows,

You always will see.

Swaddling Clothes

13 Replies

So long ago a child was born,

In swaddling clothes He lay.

Sheep and cattle gathered near,

And wise men kneeled to pray.

As time went by upon the earth,

This child had years to grow.

Once He sought a temple’s scribes,

To tell them what to know.

The Son did speak His Father’s words,

Of love and trust and truth.

Others must be taught to know,

The principles of this youth.

He lived His life each every day,

By the tenets of which he spoke.

They form the basis of our lives,

As one we must invoke.

So long ago a man did die,

In swaddling clothes he lay.

He gave His life for all of us,

And now it’s time to pray.

The Last Christmas Gift

29 Replies

Elsie looked around the room. There was carnage everywhere. A tornado passing through would have left less damage. Bodies were strewn throughout the mayhem. She chuckled. Just another Christmas morning with children.

One of the bodies stirred. A little fist came up from beneath the wrapping paper it had been curled up under. A pile of boxes sneezed. Another child was stirring. Elsie thought perhaps there were a few more to come. But she knew the fresh smell of coffee would probably wake all the adults up. Sure enough, the love of her life wandered into the room, his hands wrapped around a hot steamy mug. With no hesitation he handed it to Elsie and returned from whence he came to get another.

A few more adults showed up with coffee at hand and a tray of hot chocolate for the children. It was Christmas morning. It was after the frenzy of opening gifts. After breakfast. Everyone had been up so early for the main event that the naps became inevitable. The children slept curled around their newfound bounty while the adults found more comfortable settings. Elsie didn’t need a nap. She wanted to watch her charges. There is nothing more spiritual then the breath of a sleeping child, safe and secure in their surroundings.

There was a different feeling in the room as everyone gathered once again. They all knew what was coming. Except for one. Malcolm was new to the group, to the family. He was still getting used to the Western dynamic. He had been born into soul crushing poverty in another country. His family had been killed in a local war that no one understood. He was alone. But he had been found by people who cared and so began his journey to this moment.

“Malcolm,” send Elsie, “There is one more Christmas gift for the family. That includes you. But you don’t know the history so I’m going to tell you how this all started.”

Malcolm set up straighter, he was interested to know how things worked here and he was curious about his new family. So, he listened very carefully.

Elsie continued: “When my Great, Great, Great Grandfather came to this country he was very poor. But his parents believed they could find a better life, a better future in the New World. They risked everything. The first few years were hard but they were a hard-working family. That first Christmas looked like it was going to be pretty bleak. There was barely enough money for food let alone presents. But there was a wise patriarch and he refused to be sad. He said the goose had wandered across the street and died. His beloved wife said nothing as she picked the buck shot out of the breast of their Christmas goose.

They said grace and gave thanks for their bounty. The light was dim and the curtains were thin but they knew that others were worse off so they gave thanks. And that’s when my ancestor brought out the Last Christmas Gift.”

Elsie sat back in her chair and smiled. She looked at the faces around her beaming with anticipation. She loved this part of Christmas.

“Ever since then we have honoured the tradition that was started so many years ago.”

As if by magic a small beautifully wrapped package appeared in her lap. There were many ooohs and aaaahs from her audience. And not just the children!

With studied patience Elsie peeled back the wrapping paper. And then with a flick of her wrist a small wooden carving appeared in the palm of her hand. It was a little drummer boy.

Elsie smiled. “Would anyone like to tell me what gift this is?”

Malcolm looked confused. He didn’t know the story of the Little Drummer Boy. And then something miraculous happened. A little tow-hair girl stood up and walked to Malcolm. She wrapped her little arms around him and said:

“His gift is to us all. He was a little drummer boy who had no presents to give the newborn King, Jesus Christ so he played his drum. He gave all he had in his heart and it was the most precious gift of all. That’s what we all need to do. And it will be precious.”

This Christmas Morning

26 Replies

Christmas morning is here,

And with it the holiday cheer.

With a glass of eggnog,

It’ll clear up the fog,

Then magic will surely appear!

Santa has been in the night,

And he makes everything right.

From on top of a sleigh,

He guides the new day,

And suddenly everything’s bright!

Now this morn I wish to impart,

Words that are said from the heart.

With love and compassion,

It is the new fashion,

Perhaps we’ll get a new start!

This year has come to an end,

To all that I now count as friend.

The world is so big,

But I don’t give a fig,

Blessing to you all I do send!

The True Spirit

34 Replies

Mary was angry. Here it was two days before Christmas, she was in a town she didn’t know, a new job she didn’t like, she had no friends and no family close by, and some dirty bum had his hand out looking for money. And on top of all that, he had the unmitigated gall to be smiling as if he was happy.

Mary wasn’t smiling. In fact, she was absolutely miserable. Christmas was just another day on the calendar, it had no real meaning. People went into stores and spent a ridiculous amount of money on gifts for other people that the other people really didn’t want. Christmas wasn’t even for the children. It was just another way to teach them about how money makes the world go ‘round. If you had money, it was a good life. If you did not then you starved and were miserable, and you should look like you were miserable.

Mary approached the man that she called a bum. She was frustrated, she was angry, and she needed this person to explain to her how he could be so damn happy! Maybe he was on drugs or maybe he was crazy, but Mary didn’t think so. Of course, she did drop a twenty-dollar bill into his tin can before she posed her question.

“Are you alright? You are sitting here on a cold sidewalk asking for money. All around you is obscene wealth. How can you sit there and smile when you have nothing and so many people around you are spending money like it is water and on frivolous things? You look like you need food and these people are buying toys for people who really don’t want them. How can you sit there and smile? I’ve seen you everyday for the last week and you smile everyday, you wish people a Merry Christmas, or Happy Hanukkah, or Happy Kwanza and I don’t understand how you can actually be happy.”

At this point Mary was almost in tears. She felt so alone and so unloved that she felt jealous of this destitute individual. She wanted to shake him to make him see what an awful place the world was but she didn’t. What she did do was pause for a breath and what she saw then took that breath away.

Just a moment before she had been looking at a dirty bum and now, he had taken on a dignity that belied her original perception. He sat up straighter and his smile became wider. Even his eyes seemed to twinkle with a secret knowledge. There was a beauty to his face that she had not noticed before. His voice, when he spoke, was strong and melodic. The words he spoke were the truth.

“But I have everything. Someone gave me a coat to keep me warm. He gave me the gift of warmth. People stop and give me their spare change, a cup of coffee, or a sandwich. A small child gave me a penny. A penny to a small child is like a million dollars to a billionaire. A beautiful woman gave me her scarf to warm my neck. An old man gave me a warm pair of gloves. All I have to offer them in return is my smile and my best wishes. Some people are embarrassed and hurry on but others take it in the spirit in which it is given. Some people give of themselves, and that is what makes me the wealthiest of people.”

Mary thought about what this person had just said to her. It was starting to make sense. The importance of the season was not the gift; it was not the thought of the gift. That was all meaningless. What was important was the giving of one’s self willingly.

The next day Mary went into work. She felt a little lighter, a little happier. She looked around her with a new perspective: people were giving of them selves; the gifts they were giving were simply an extension of their spirit. Sometimes the gifts were expensive, sometimes the gifts cost only pennies and sometimes it was only a word and a hug. But these people were giving, Mary saw that now. And Mary started giving as well.

It was Christmas Eve now and Mary wanted to share with the homeless man what she had learned. She stopped at the bank and took out one hundred dollars. She placed the money in an envelope and tucked that into the pocket of her coat. With a smile on her face, she went looking for the homeless man.

But he wasn’t there. Mary walked up and down the street looking for him. She asked shop keepers if they had seen him but everyone was too busy and said they didn’t remember. So, Mary continued on her walk home. She was sad now that she couldn’t share with the man who had taught her so much. She wondered where he had gone and what he was doing for Christmas.

Just two blocks before Mary reached her apartment building was a small church. Mary had seen the structure before but had never ventured in. Today her feet took her over the threshold and into the church. She sat quietly in one of the back pews and looked up into the beautiful stained-glass windows. She felt at peace. As her eyes wandered over the beautiful paintings, a figure seemed to stand out: it was of man who was seated on the ground and his hand was outstretched as if beckoning. Her eyes widened in recognition and then she shook her head, it was not possible.

As Mary turned over in bed that night, she replayed in her head what she had learned and she smiled. She had left the envelope with the money in the church; she knew it was the right thing to do. Never again would she forget just how valuable it is to interact with other people. Giving of one’s self is as simple as smiling. He had taught her that.