this could be very bad form in the world of blogging, but sometimes you simply have to acknowledge that someone else said it far better than you ever could.  in this case, my friend, bonnie, has done it for the umpteenth time.  read her latest blog post here:



Let us not bend our joyful season to the hollow shuffle of the Big Box Swoon. We know a richer dance, where games are played and stories are told, fires are lit and songs are song. Warmth is found under quilts, snuggled together, and lit candles cast their shadows late into the night. We are richer for our people, not our trinkets. Today, we are wealthy beyond measure.

Our wealth is not in our homes, our banks, our jobs, our desperate expectations, our tired dreams.

Where we breath, we know miracle beyond measure! That we live, is too much to fathom. You, me, we, each are a fragile flame of enduring brilliance. Know this and be alive: we have breath, and thoughts that are free to grow and roam. We have hands warmed to hold our children and embrace our friends and stir up a little pot of hot tea on cold mornings. We have snowflake ballets spinning their courses across the theater of our living-room windows, and neighbours to greet, and driveways to shovel. We have water to drink, a sweater to wear, and a pillow upon which to rest our head, and a God Who loves us, Who is there.

We have lips that kiss and bodies that move and eyes that see and spirits that pray.

And times are changing and we must understand that the comfort we have come to take for granted is what we must wisely release our grip on. And we must face, with courage, what tomorrow brings. And in this courage we again find we are rich: to have courage is to be free.

And in our freedom we are not bound to the things of this world, but tied fast to the hearts of those who have made their mark on us, and those to whom we devote our breath. We are a woven together. We (you me them) belong to each other. And in each other we are rich. As Dory reminded me while we snuggled in the dark folds of early morning bed-drift, “[these riches] are our memories of God, Mommy.”


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Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children.
-Kahlil Gibran

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