Thoughtful Moments

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 4, Issue 186, 28 November 1941, Page 2

Thoughtful Moments

OUR SUNDAY MESSAGE

(Supplied by ihe Whakataiii! Mii.tst ers' Association).

THE FESTIVE SEASON The following article was publ'shed in the "Exporter" last year. The message is so timely, we pass it on. Christmas is almost upon us! I think no other time is so fraught with strain, especially for mothers, ns the last week or two "before Christmas." It is with these motherpeople tugging at my heart-strings that I am writing to you this afternoon. It seems to me that they are carrying far too heavy a load, and that each Christmas makes it a good deal heavier. Among my friends there are so many of yon with children well past the lovely a,ge when one day is as good as another —or rather better. Christmas with the tinies is the nearest thing to a perfect Christmas that we shall ever attain, I think. A cuddly toy or two, if ever so home made, an orange and an apple,, a paper hat. and something nice and sticky wherewith to smudge hands and face and 'jamas, a balloon, bright jellies and cream, a gay cake, a bath, and some kisses, and Christmas is over. Definitely, a good Christmas, too! Andi nobody's any the worse. But haven't we, with all the goodwill in the world, "knocked the bottom out of" a real Christmas as they grew older? As one mother said to me last December, "You've got to get something decent for a girl of 's age. She wants a new racquet and press, and if we give her that, what about the other three and son? It's appalling! You can't put a squeaker and a golliwog and a handful of nuts and sweets in their stockings any longer. I wish it was over!" And if we were perfectly candid, ;he isn't the only one. Well, why can't you fix up something less tragically costly for Margaret and Lorn a and E'aine and John? I'll tell you why. It's because little by little, \ r ear by year, you've done a little more and spent a little more and ! ed them to expect it, and now you are afraid to- call a halt. Afraid of their disappointment, afraid of their schoolmates, afraid of the future when you won't have them around you at Christmas. So the joy has gone out of the "festive season." It's festive—nothing much more. What I mean is, can't we do better than that? Isn't there some Avay of putting a little fun into this grim business we call the festive season? We arc getting much too far from Bethlehem. That is the real mistake. I.et us break away from some Of the strain and get back some of the peace we forget to> mix up with the goodwill. It's that or lose everything that Christmas ought to mean to us. Which rather reminds me of a very large leisurely woman to whom I once spoke on the telephone about Christmas time. "What Avere you doing when I rang?" she asked. "Wrapping up parcels for the grand babies' stockings," was my answer. "When you've got as many as I have you'll los« all interest in them and their stockings," was the amazing retort.

Weil, we don t want it to come to that .... Well, if we must, let's cling to the old traditions; but not too slavishly. Let's have a few quiet moments for the Babe and His mother, for the Prince of Peace, Whose love .is the one blessed hope of a world in torment. I .ess strain and more serenity; less spent and more given, since love is the priceless giff. Less gaiety and more gladness,, less feasting and more fun. I know children who don't know what they want for Christmas! Could you blame them if they cried for the moon? If' we are going to< help to build a new world we shall have to learn to love, simplicity and quiet ways, those dear and precious things that are so easily lost, and- so hard to regain. Once again I want to share with you something that really helped. Something that scattered the mist so that I saw clearly. I am accustomed to hearing about my isolation, the loneliness of this place, and how awkward it is to reach, and so on. f began to wonder whether I was unconsciously hiding from the realities of life. Just then a new friend spoke and wrote of a '"little watchtower in the hills." It was like more light. It confirmed my judgment and strengthened my resolve to hold fast to those things of which I speak. Incidentally, it was a spur toi the spirit; and, perhaps, a key to the character of the speaker. I would strongly plead for more simplicity, more quiet, more deep living—lving away down below the troubled surface of things. It is on such deep foundations that our stability depends. Surely Ave can help each other along these lines by living simply and encouraging others to do> so. By taking time which means making time, for the fundamental things, the true, beautiful, lasting things that do not change nor pass away.

THE COMMONPLACE There's beauty in the commonplace, There's charm in old, familiar things, The memory of our childhood days Still like a fragrance round us clings; And homely scenes and simple Avays Our .spirits, cheer, like sunlit rays. There's beauty in life's daily path, The common air, the sl<y r , the sea; "A, violet by a mossy stone" I Is full of grace and mystery. Where'er we wander, east or west, No spot of earth can be unblest. There's comfort in the commonplace, We need not seek the rich and rare, The love that lifts, the hope that heals, Like flowers are scattered everywhere. Dear God! whose gifts reveal Thy grace We thank Thee for life's common' place.—Anon.