Greetings Dear Reader,
I realize that baseball is in the midst of its long winter’s
nap. It is the proper metaphor, however,
for the day. The last day of November
holds the moment when we begin the year’s journey toward home.
This may be literally for Christmas and family. It is also the closing of the year and this year;
it is the closing of a decade. The first
fifth of the twenty-first century has slipped through the glass. It is also the month that marks my very
favorite time of year.
Tomorrow, I will begin my true writing about Christmas. Today though, I want to focus on the opportunity
that only comes once a year in popularity but can be employed every day if we
wish. It is Small Business
Saturday. I have already made one small
business purchase for a Christmas gift.
I will only buy from small businesses today; but wait, there is more.
Another aspect of today is that I begin my reflection on how
I have improved in carrying Christmas in my heart throughout the year. I can see improvement but there is so much more
that I can and will do in this area. The
sand is drifting through the glass and soon thoughts of Christmas and the New Year
will fill our focus. I mean to take a
breath and see the day for what it is.
Even though my life is also rounding third, I need to see that
I am where I am supposed to be and that things are unfolding as they
should. The long dark of winter is not a
dreadful dark anymore to me. Each grain
of sand matters. I will round third but
pause just long enough to see the value of third for what it is. It is almost home, potential in motion, and whatever
lies ahead on the path is going to be just what it should.
The Father is calling us all home, Dear Reader. Eventually, there will come a Winter with a Spring
that I shall never see. There will come
a Christmas where I do not get share my joy with you. Today, however, I want to remind you that
wherever we are in the passage, there is always time for another Christmas song.
Hope everybody’s ringing on their
own bell, this fine morning.
Hope everyone’s connected to that long-distance phone.
Old man, he’s a mountain.
Old man, he’s an island.
Old man, he’s awaking – says,
“I’m going to call, call all my children home.”
Hope everyone’s connected to that long-distance phone.
Old man, he’s a mountain.
Old man, he’s an island.
Old man, he’s awaking – says,
“I’m going to call, call all my children home.”
Hope everybody’s dancing to their
own drum this fine morning –
the beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town.
Old man, he’s calling for his supper.
He’s calling for his whiskey.
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah – calling, calling all his children round.
the beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town.
Old man, he’s calling for his supper.
He’s calling for his whiskey.
Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah – calling, calling all his children round.
Sharp ears are tuned in to the
drones and chanters warming.
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory.
Everyone is from somewhere –
even if you’ve never been there.
So take a minute to remember the part of you, that might be the old man calling me.
Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory.
Everyone is from somewhere –
even if you’ve never been there.
So take a minute to remember the part of you, that might be the old man calling me.
How many wars you fighting out
there, this Christmas morning?
Maybe it’s always time for another Christmas song.
Old man, he’s asleep now.
Got appointments to keep now.
Dreaming of his sons and daughters and proving, proving that the blood is strong.
Maybe it’s always time for another Christmas song.
Old man, he’s asleep now.
Got appointments to keep now.
Dreaming of his sons and daughters and proving, proving that the blood is strong.
Wishing you joy in the journey,
Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every
writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a
homeowner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure
store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Contacts for Aramis Thorn:
Bookings: aramisthorn@aramisthorn.com
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