In the Bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
in the bleak midwinter, long ago.

- Gustav Holst

Twilight comes early these dark December days and I find myself asking:

Where did the day go?

How can an eight hour work day leave me with so little to show for it?

I get up in the morning with every intention of cranking a lot out of the ol' sunflower mill and before I know it, the sky is darkening, I am listening for my dear husband's "Honey, I'm home" and it is time to make dinner.

The truly frightening thing is how often I wonder:

Where did the week go?

Or the month?

The year?

And in a very few weeks, as we turn our calendars to 2010, I can ask myself:

Where did the decade go?

Yikes!

Now that's scary!

I have spent much of yesterday and today listening to Christmas music on line while I work on my many current projects and the above hymn is my absolute favorite carol.

It is so plaintive and haunting; so stark and simple. There is the same spareness about the song as exists in a silvery field of frost. A sigh of wind. The elegant lines of bare trees. It feels like plainsong.

Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain;
heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

The song lacks the robust rejoicing of "Joy to the World." It doesn't have the gravity of "Oh Come All Ye Faithful." And for majesty, it is hard to beat the "Allelujah Chorus" (even if it was composed for the Easter section of the Messiah).

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
but his mother only, in her maiden bliss,
worshiped the beloved with a kiss.

The lyrics tug at my heart. Though surrounded by splendour unimaginable, the mother's kiss is all that matters. Not the angels and archangels, not the cherubim & seraphim. The mother and her love.

A baby knows its parents instinctively. And, as long as there is love surrounding him, that is all that matters. That is enough.

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

We give our hearts.

We give them every day.

We give them when we kiss our beloved's cheek on our way out the door in the morning.

We give them on our lunch break, when we put a dollar in the red kettle and say, "Merry Christmas" to the kind-hearted soul swinging the bell.

We give them in the afternoon, as we hold a friend's hand and ask, "What's wrong?"

We give them in the evening, when we offer our encouragement to a new knitter, just starting her first sweater, lace shawl, or sock.

And when we tuck our children into bed.

We don't have the riches of the wise men. We do not have the livestock which the shepherds tended (well, MOST of us don't - I know some of you raise sheep.)

But we always and evermore are in possession of the only thing that matters. Our loving hearts.

And that is enough.

Just to spread the joy around, I will be giving away a free pattern (of your choice - Spruce excluded) to one commenter a day through Christmas, randomly chosen by Mrs. Claus (just me - don't get too excited).

I'll announce the previous day's winner in each post this month, If you are the winner, email me your preference at susanpandorf@comcast.net and I'll email your pattern right out to you.

Doesn't that sound like a lot of fun?

Yesterday's winner is: Nebraska Knitter. Email me, girl...

Now aren't you glad you left a comment?