Twas a
chilly, wet and rainy Christmas morning in Renon, Bali … I hope they don’t make
a tradition of this J But my Christmas gift—a long rain smock—has once again come
in handy, such that I actually arrived here at Starbucks miraculously somewhat
dry. I was not, however, able to talk to my son on the phone, as it is sleeting
and snowing back in Portland, Oregon and his usual Christmas evening gathering
with mother, stepfather and stepbrother had to be cancelled. They hope to try
again tomorrow.
So I’ve got
my free Vente Latte now (hadiah Hari Natal, a Christmas present), which I am
enjoying in the company of absolutely no one—although Samuel, a friend who
helps once a week with keeping my house clean, called with good wishes. The big
fat brown dog stopped by the house, naturally, for a Christmas breakfast, and I
last saw her sitting on the porch as I left with a rather disgruntled look on
her face. Going back home will entail having a bath along the way, which she
does not like. Bah, humbug.
This is
Christmas in Bali. Pretty much just another day, although this time around a
wet one. It would have been nice, as in years past, to take a leisurely walk on
the beach, but it seems that this entertainment will be prevented this year by
the steady rain.
I cannot say
that this has been a good year for me—increased troubles with MS and separation
from my wife being the two highlights—and yet, this causes 2018 to seem all the
more seeded with hope and newness of life. It is a great, yet unwrapped package
of unknown contents, a compelling mystery that has so far only been poked and
shaken and peeked at through loose corners, awaiting the full disclosure of
other mornings.
I give
thanks always, and especially on this day, to the Lord, whose love and
friendship is everlasting, who sets me back on my feet when I fall and shines
light on the way before me, who continually edifies my spirit in love.
Now, quite
suddenly, a Christmas party has arrived at Starbucks, all in bright clothing,
and the women with brooches of holly or of golden leaves and the men in slacks
and bright batik, and all with Merry Christmas on their lips, and even to the
stranger, a greeting, a smile, and an outstretched hand.
A joy within me springs,
A happy song of love and praise,
My raptured spirit sings
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