Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
by Emily Dickinson
The winter is the childhood of the year.
Into this childhood of the year came the child Jesus; and into this childhood of the year must we all descend.
It is as if God spoke to each of us according to our need.
My son, my daughter, you are growing old and cunning; you must grow a child again, with my son, this blessed birth-time.
You are growing old and careful; you must become a child.
You are growing old and distrustful; you must become a child.
You are growing old and petty, and weak and foolish; you must become a child — my child, like the baby there, that strong sunrise of faith and hope and love, lying in his mother’s arms in the stable.
Adela Cathcart - by George MacDonald
“When mystery hides Thee from the sight of faith and hope: when pain turns even love to dust: when life is bitter to the taste and our song of joy dies down to silence, then Father, do for us that which is past our power to do for ourselves. Break through our darkness with Your light. Show us Thyself through Jesus suffering on the tree, rising from the grave, and reigning from the throne, all with power and love for us unchanging. So shall our fear be gone and our feet set on a radiant path.”
Alistair MacLean in Hebridean Altars (See also, “Just because I am happy doesn’t mean I don’t have problems…” previous post for 26 November 2011, as it relates to help not residing in a ‘binary’ solution)
