The
following was posted in the weekly news sheet I produce for our parish.
“Saturday, 16th December, 10.00 am to 12.00 pm
at St. Francis—Advent Prayer Morning. Take some time out to reflect on the Christmas
story in a range of ways. Please pop in and spend a few minutes, or a lot if
you wish, in quiet. There will be prayer stations for you to visit or you can
just sit and have some space. Refreshments will be provided.”
When
I read the above invitation, I was more than interested in attending; I told
myself that I was going to participate.
It took a determined decision, as it was going to be a busy day. “Jame-O”,
our second-oldest grandson, had come to spend the weekend with us. I was still trying to get my Christmas cards
completed.
When
I mentioned to “Maverick” that I wanted to go, he said that he too wanted to
take time to participate. Since “Jame-O”
was with us, he had no choice but to go with us. But he seemed glad enough to do so.
When
I arrived at St. Francis, I found that the organiser had put up five stations
around the walls and three/four large tables in the middle of the room. At
each station there were craft supplies by way of using one’s imagination to
meditate, and interact with the reflection.
The
temptation to walk around and survey each of the prayer stations and
accompanying activity challenged me. But
I’d been instantly drawn to the table with a wooden nativity set and knew that
a wonder around the room would simple be procrastination. The tableaux were carved from light wood,
lightly polished. The Baby Jesus was
lying with it’s arms outstretched, indicating His adult purpose.
The
instruction sheet read: “Spend some time looking at the Nativity Scene. Although this event occurred over 2000 years
ago, we play a major role in this story.
And although we were not physically present, we can still connect to
this scene.
“Think
about which character in this scene you identify most with at this point in
your life: the new mother, the worried
father, the lowly shepherds, the travelling Magi, the animals wondering at the
spectacle happening in their stable…
“Use
the paper people to make your likeness, or simply write your name on it. Then place it in the Nativity scene as a way
of symbolically connecting to the story and entering into the mystery of the
Advent Season.”
After
removing my coat, taking my notebook from the backpack, I sat down. As I settled in the chair, I purposed to engage
with the Holy Spirit. I took a deep breath, trying to shift from
the busyness of the morning into a slower frame of mind. I’d felt restless, distracted, harried by the
interruptions of the morning. When I
stopped, opened my mind and heart to the leading of the Holy Spirit, I felt the
Presence of Jesus draw near. My heart
welled up with peace, and my eyes filled with tears.
I re-read
the instructions. With whom do I most
identify?
The
central person in the story is Mary. The
day before I’d finally had a chance to hold my newest baby grandson,
“Billy”. He wasn’t yet a month old. Truly, holding an infant is a “Mommy-Nanna”
moment. The humble obedience of the
young woman, Mary, has often made me marvel.
Yet, I felt no connection with her.
I’m
an animal lover. A person only has to
watch me with Maisy to know how soft-hearted (soft-in-the head?) I am when it
comes to interacting with her and other animals. I find them entertaining, and believe we
don’t give them credit for just how cleaver they are. But for this task of meditating, identifying,
and attempting to find wonder, I feel no connection.
The
shepherds…I wait…but no, I have no sense of any emotions they might have felt
that touch me in these quiet moments.
Momentarily
my heart is tempted to be discouraged, to despair even. There seems to be no affinity with this holy
scene or the people in it.
But
wait! The Magi! What about the Wise Men, seeking,
travelling? They travel to find their
heart’s desire, a new king, a new kingdom.
They purpose to deliver their specific gifts to the Child of Salvation.
In
that moment it happens—the divine spark that captures my heart, my imagination.
In
the Autumn of this year I took a journey.
Like Mary and Joseph, I travelled to the place of my roots. Instead of bearing gifts, I had gone looking
for information, inspiration and hospitality.
During that pilgrimage to Indiana, the Holy Spirit led me to all which I
sought. I was able to connect deeply
with my calling, my passion and my purpose.
Like the Wise Men, I was developing my talent to present to Jesus.
I
turned to the task given in the instructions—creating the cardboard image of myself.
I selected a white paper figure to
represent my likeness, for God had created me with fair skin. I found a yellow dress in the paper
clothing. Two reasons for the yellow
dress: (1) yellow is my favourite colour;
(2) as a response to a word given to
me by a dear friend. On 25th
September 2017 our friend, “Parkie” took “Maverick” and me to Wisley Gardens,
in the County of Surrey. It was a
wonderful day, because the autumn colours were just beginning to come on. We had gone to the café for lunch, and the
menfolk had gone to get use drinks, while I sat outside at the table. As I was sitting there a little gold finch
flew so near I wanted to reach out and touch it. “Parkie” noticed and remarked about how close
they were to me. As we sat talking,
“Parkie” suddenly said “You said that yellow is your favourite colour. Well, for you, things are no longer going to
be all black and white. They’re going to
be black and yellow.” I am still
pondering those words, and how they apply to me.
To
the wee form I added a scarf, also with yellow flowers. Because the colours choices for hair did not
include grey cut-outs, I chose brown hair.
My hair had been brown in my youth.
Like
the wise men, I am on a journey to deliver my gift back to God. My gift of gold—worship, frankincense—prayers
and intercessions, and myrrh —the sacrifice of praise in the midst of trials,
tribulation and temptations.
God
reaffirmed to me that He did not want me to identify with poverty, failure,
shame and condemnation. I am not a
pauper, an orphan with stains on my dress, my hands, my face. I am to own the identity of a new
creation. I know my God appointed
purpose, my calling. I am a Princess of
the Most High God, dressed in acceptance, clothed in beauty, representing the
Kingdom of Heaven.
Serving Jesus, Author of our faith,
“Lady Helene”
