One sentence became one word, crawled out of my computer, had wings, flew through my one eye and onwards to the core of my heart. This word was a bug biting me consistently and followed me everywhere. The bug was all I saw. I thought it had bad news for me from everyone: every publisher, reader and every friend. The bug was very real to myself and I was about to become a bug myself. The sentences had become a word, which had become an annoying bug, which name was No. No came to life in an e-mail, which told me the magazine didn’t want to publish any of the eight poems I had submitted. My brain knew why and what it meant, but my eyes only saw the No which attacked my heart. I saw the No vandalize every sentence I had ever written, every word I was writing and every letter I would write in the future. I stopped all my writing projects. The No began to yell at me even in situations which were not writing related, and it grew bigger and stronger. It was about to become a giant instead of a bug.
Tag: Jesus (Page 4 of 6)
In many homes there are small nativity scenes. There are shepherds, sheep, cattle, a donkey, Joseph, Mary and baby Jesus. They might look like dolls, and children and simple souls (Mr. Bean) feel like playing with the nativity scene.
There exists a romantic idea about rural life, the romantic thoughts about having a small ecological farm. Remember the song about Old MacDonald?
Let me tell how it really is in a stable. I grew up in the country. My dad had a few calves and some sheep. I often helped him in the stable. I made name tags to the calves, both the calves and the lambs were cute. I talked to them, but I never got attached to them, and I knew they were animals which had to be slaugthered one day.
There is often cold and dark in a stable. The hay is soft, but it is also scratchy and not clean. It is mixed with the urine and the excrements of the animals. The fodder is dry, not like oatmeal without milk, but like hard grain.
When sheep have lambs, the lambs can lie in the hay under a small heat lamp. Shortly after the birth, the lambs must stand on their feet. Sometimes the sheep cannot take care of their lambs. Sometimes lambs die.
I’m a mother and I would never give birth in a stable, only if I had to. My dad and I only went to the stable when we took care of the animals.
Mary and Joseph sought vacancy at the hostel, but the owner didn’t think there was room for a woman in labor. Mary had to seek shelter in a stable, maybe because the contractions grew in intensity. There is no couch, bed or blanket in a stable. There is not even a chair, there might be a stool. A stable is cold, moist and not totally clean. Mary and Joseph had no towels, bed or cradle. Jesus was layed in a manger together with the hay and maybe a little grain.
Jesus, Messiah, the son of God was born in a stable like an animal. Jesus was a lamb already from birth, who was destined to be slaughtered. Jesus is God’s lamb, who God sacrificed to reconcile himself with us.
He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth. (Is 53:7)
Merry Christmas!
November is plodding
The trees expose their fragile branches
A drop rolls down
the cheek of a leaf
The last flowers wither
the storm rages
Raindrops are pouring down
We miss the summer
and our loved ones, who have left us
The TV shouts
the breaking news
Last night I went to bed accompanied with a headache and two teardrops. The reason for my tears was our guests, who wanted to eat, sleep and live in our kitchen. They did no harm, but I couldn’t welcome thousands of ants running in circles all over my kitchen floor.
Today I will welcome you into my imperfection. As a wife and a mother I’m often exhausted, tired and worried. I long to have more energy and joy. The times when I do not know when the train will arrive or my destination are the worst. At this moment, I have to be patient while my son has problems in his school, my daughter’s favorite word is “no”, my husband’s leg is broken, and I’m a recovering addict of Facebook.
The other day we sat at our dinner table, and my son told us about his dreams about becoming a farmer when he has grown up. I asked my 4-year-old daughter what she wanted to become when she becomes an adult. Her answer came as a surprise to me, but before I tell you what she answered, I will tell you what I dreamed about in my childhood and youth.
Too many dreams
When I was a child and in my youth, I dreamed about being good at something, to have success and to be meaningful to other people. I’ve dreamed about becoming a singer, a dancer, an actress, an artist, a journalist, an author, teacher or a pastor. When theology didn’t work for me, I was educated a kindergarten teacher and deacon, which I later found out was not my dream job. I got the education, but there was no job for me. I dreamed about having a career, but it began to look like a fantasy or that I should wait for I don’t know how long.
When I was a child, I never thought about starting my own family, but some time after I was married and I was about 24 I looked at all my cousins and my siblings who all had children, and I thought “ok, maybe I should also have some children.”
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