Let Me See Your Face!

November has arrived and with it the end of such a lovely but too short fall season and the beginning of another winter with its sleet, ice, and snow. 

 

A Canada goose sits at the edge of the lake,
contemplating its long journey south ... and I want to go along!

A Blue Jay enjoys the seeds scattered on our deck table.
He's in it for the long haul, just like we are!

I bring in my favorite plants -- the geranium that outdid itself this year and the gerbera that is just full of buds. This season lends itself toward a mood of melancholy sadness but these flowers and the birds by my window will cheer
me up. 

Hardy was given the above item at a craft sale at our church some time ago by a person who was selling handcrafted jewellery. He thought it might be a rosary but the person who gave it to him said it was not.
A relative of ours who had spent time in Greece with MCC told us the string of beads was called a kompoloi or "worry beads". These beads do not have a religious or ceremonial meanning but are simply used to pass away time, guard against bad luck, or, if expensive, as a mark of power or social prestige. Hardy and
I have been using it after our breakfast devotions to remember friends and loved ones who have passed away as well as their families. We simply take one bead at a time, hold it between our fingers and whisper the name we are reminded of. It is strangely comforting. 

We have enjoyed getting together with our friendship/care group for the first time since the coronavirus hit us. I discovered a wonderful storybook for children, written by Douglas Wood, that teaches some profound truths and is beautifully illustrated by artist Jon J. Muth.
I wanted to use it for a sermon I was preparing for church and borrowed it from a friend, who brought it to our care group get-together. We had a delightful time listening to Yayoi, a Japanese Canadian poet, read this book to us. 

             

                                         

The book ends with the following advice the Old Turtle gives to the little girl of the story: "Remember this, little one. The Broken Truth, and life itself, will be mended only when one person meets another -- someone from a different place or with a different face or different ways -- and sees and hears ... herself. Only then will the people know that every person, every being, is important, and the world was made for each of us."

I was charmed by an eight-month-old little girl at church last Sunday, who, when I last saw her, was still so babyish and now has blossomed into this gorgeous, inquisitive, relational little being. She stared at me intensely for several minutes and when I asked her caregiver (the baby is a foster child) why she was doing that, she said, "She wants you to take off your mask. She has a thing about masks."

When I took off my mask, the baby broke into an amused grin and studied my face intensely, reacting to every expression! 
I'm still thinking about that, and how we all need to take off our masks (not the ones to prevent the COVID virus from spreading, but the ones behind which we hide our genuine selves) and become real to one another.

"A little child will lead them."  

 Happy November everyone!