Telling the Truth

Do you want nothing but the best? If so, George MacDonald tells us exactly how to get it. My comments follow his sonnet.

It’s been an age since I first met you—
You there, looking back at me
Three score years plus eleven to be exact
You haven’t changed a bit, they say
You and I know better

unread mysteries all of us,
tantalizing and elusive

Several days ago I read a beautiful, evocative poem

It isn’t easy to snatch hope from the wicked.  Just ask the women of Dawn’s Place.  They know what it takes.  So does the woman in Psalm 112.

* * *

I’ve re-worded Psalm 112 for women, with major thanks to Rabbi Aaron Lichtenstein’s plain English translation of all the Psalms, and a nod to the Good News Bible’s plain English translation of the Bible.

Psalm 112

Praise the Lord!

Happy is any woman who fears the Lord and loves the Lord’s precepts,
She will be a heroine, as will her children;
In a time of prosperity, her home will abound with wealth,
while her honesty is well known.

There is a light in the darkness for the trustworthy woman,
who remains compassionate, merciful, and forthright;
Who gladly gives a loan while claiming no more than she is due,
so that she will never fail and will be recognized…

This story is from a book I wrote in the 1990s.  It’s my most vivid childhood memory of Christmas.

I couldn’t forget the look on my mother’s face when I opened my Christmas present from my grandfather.  I was about 12 years old.  My mother’s father lived in California; we now lived in Georgia.  Gifts and letters had replaced lively visits to his apartment. 

~~~The Annunciation by Fra Angelico. Cortona altarpiece, c. 1433

Advent. Time to consider our bodies. The text for today’s meditation puts it in our faces. You can find the entire story here.

…The angel said to her,
“Do not be afraid, Mary;
 you have found favor with God.
 You will conceive and give birth to a son,
and you are to call him Jesus.”
…“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered,
“May your word to me be fulfilled.”
Then the angel left her.
 (Luke 2:30, 31 and 38, NIV)

Part I
Mid-1980s. It’s the last Sunday of Advent. The choir is singing special Christmas music. Mother is in the choir, standing at the end of the front row, singing her heart out. I’m in my 40s; Mother is in her early 60s.

Embarrassment, shame and anger flood over me. It’s not the music. It’s the way Mother looks. Even the most coordinated colors wouldn’t have added much color to her face, especially next to the well…

from the podium
Beethoven in floral garb
conducts ode to joy

* * *

Things that gladden and soften me,