9th of 9


          This beautiful break draws to a close. Even at so late the evening hour, tiny night breaths bear the lonesome call of the last water birds. Gazing at the gate I must soon open to return to the world tomorrow, my heart constricts. This has truly been a beautiful 9 days. Even the day I slipped and returned to anger brought me to a new day lovelier than the day before. It’s as if God would not allow anything to tarnish the pearl of His gift to us.

          Still, the 9 was not a break from this world. God did not shield us from pain and stings on this break, He did not take us to a world away from this world. Instead, each day that we lived cuddled in our joy in the evergreen valleys of home and hearth, we also stood within the circle of pain of others. Granted, despite our best intentions, we did not always live our hours in perfect charity and obedience. But like seasoned sailors we rode each crest and billow, our eyes in constant seeking of the Master’s Light. If we fell, we got up and sought our post again.

          Although I tried to live this break for God entirely, no effort of mine could have scripted even a single minute of these 9 days. The gentle flow of hour into hour, from the rose of each sunrise to the sultry, triumphant bloom of sunset, sang of the grace of God Who loves and gives beyond compare.

          It was truly, truly Grace that wrote the story of each day.









          I woke up to the new day that rose from the sad day before. Immediately, I noticed there was none of the grey of spirit spilling over to the fresh day ahead. Neither was there lightness. I shrugged. I just had to get on with it and not stray again.

          I had eased into the dark dawn hours, busy with work, when I heard unseen voices lilt hymn lines quietly within me.

Gloria in excelsis Deo
Gloria in excelsis Deo!

          The very moment the lines escaped unseen lips, my entire being exploded with energy and hope! I soared and soared. Caught by hands I could not see, led into a dance of spirit not visible to eye. Joy, oh utter joy! Hope and lightness.

Gloria in excelsis Deo
Gloria in excelsis Deo!

          What could it mean? What could it mean? This was the second time I was hearing a Christmas hymn in a ‘non-Christmas’ season. Gloria in excelsis deo. Latin for Glory to God in the Highest. When my eyes traced over the terrain of the day that had passed, all I saw was my will to sin. What loomed large was the loss suffered through choice – although in the later hours, I had trudged back to my place at the foot of the Cross I had too willingly abandoned earlier.

          Had I given glory to God through my remorse? I rolled the bean of thought back and forth. It was possible, but it didn’t quite fit the pod. There was something else.

          It came very slowly.

          In my remorse over my betrayal, my spirit had ached for the Cross I had discarded for human comfort. After a lifetime being in a tempest over my crosses, for the very first time that sullen night, my spirit longed for the Cross as anyone would a treasured and beloved friend.

          I do not know how long this love for the Cross would last. I do not trust myself. But the angels had tinkled the silver bells of comprehension in my contrite spirit. That to give glory to God goes far beyond merely obeying. It is also much more than mutinous obedience.

          To truly love the Cross is to glorify God.



          Time rushing past. Days filled to the brim. Lists, lists, lists. Tasks accomplished and unaccomplished. Much done, much to do. A whirlwind of activities. 


          Black headlines. Bleakness. Fear. Loss before its time. Grief, streams of sorrow. Betrayals of loves we thought we knew. Raging winds, storms all around us. Dreams crushed, hopes dashed, trust decimated. 


          And yet, deep inside, in a secret place hidden within, the winds have stilled. No curious breezes, no storm, no wind wild. The guardians of our soul know something we don’t – the season is ripe. Wind chimes of angels tinkle, bidding us to slow our stride and pause our rush, for the season is ripe.



          Hold close the Rose Beads, ponder the Truth. Gather the children, spread the mantle of prayer. Love the erring, seek the lost, no soul left behind.


           The winds have stilled. The angels know. The season is ripe.


I struggled with a minor disturbance recently, struggled to keep the sun shining and the clouds at bay. I was aggrieved at the irritant, and in need of a sympathetic audience, took my angst to God. In a whitesilver flash, He cut through, and gave me this hymn:




Let there be peace on earth

And let it begin with me.


Let there be peace on earth

The peace that was meant to be.


With God as our Father

Brothers all are we.


Let me walk with my brother

In perfect harmony.

3 indonesia[1]

Let peace begin with me

Let this be the moment now.

Image of praying hands

With every step I take

Let this be my solemn vow.


To take each moment

And live each moment


With peace eternally.

Let there be peace on earth,

And let it begin with me.