Good King Wenceslas

"Sire, the night is darker now,
And the wind blows stronger...
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer...

Mark my footsteps, my good page,
Tread thou in them boldly,
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly...


Being home for Christmas has turned out to be deeply humbling. The kids are wonderful, and it's so good to see them after having been so long away...the odd thing is that though I seem to have changed several times over, home is almost frighteningly the same. It is pitiful to watch my newly won and dearly held Quaker patience, forebearance, and love threaten to crumble in only a few days of the old hostile routine! And I thought I could show up here in a few months like a missionary, and show them the true way into Light and Happiness, even if they never left their tradition.

Ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha, HA!

Ha!

I didn't make it to a religious service of any denomination this Christmas, which was really strange. Neither have I managed to put aside any silent time to worship, or to gather my mind, or catch my breath. There have been a few times, when on the verge of a horrible political meltdown feud with my parents, triggered by the least mention of the war, I've just felt my heart ready to capsize with sadness and loneliness. I've just barely managed not to use the outward weapons of acting hurt and alienated to hurt and alienate them in turn for having the gall to...be wrong? To be afraid and angry?

They don't need my example, they need my love. And I've had to clarify to myself they don't need me to love them as an example. They need me to love them...to love them. And they may never change, and it appears clear to me that I cannot come and live with them and minister to them as I wanted, but I will continue to love them. For the next 48 hours, I am trying to make this love my worship, and trying to be humble and low and joyful in it.