A cup of kindness
It's been kind of rainy and gloomy here. It seems appropriate as we move quickly toward the solstice - the shortest day, or more aptly, the longest night.
A number of churches hold a longest night service on the 21st, in the same vein as what some call a Blue Christmas service. It is geared toward those who are grieving, who have perhaps lost loved ones in the last year, who are for whatever reason not up for a jolly holly Christmas. Our church will have one - a service in the chapel with candles and a soup supper afterwards - on Friday. Last year we had a harpist (not sure about this year - I'm actually out of town on the 21st). It was lovely.
Some of us have trouble feeling our feelings. Maybe we were taught not to feel them so much when we were little. I know that is true for me. Maybe we are afraid of our feelings. What if we get carried away, what if our feelings overwhelm us and we end up swept up in their tide. What if we end up like jelly outside the jar, just a quivering mass spreading out into nothing?
Or maybe we just don't want to show our feelings to others. Whose business is it anyway that we are sad or uncomfortable? Just leave us alone.
There are many people who are experiencing the longest night right now. Right now in the midst of our putting up Christmas greenery and shopping and singing and feasting. All the nights may seem like the longest night, now and for a while yet.
We all have rough edges and we bump up against one another all the time. As the nights grow longer, let us be kind. You never know what's going on with the people you meet this time of year.
Let us all be kind.