This week has had an “in-between” quality to it. The holidays have begun—tonight is the last night of Hanukkah. And yet, the Winter Solstice and Christmas are still a few days away. There is a stillness that comes in these days when the dark seems to outweigh the light. There is anticipation of what is coming, and yet we are not quite there yet. And in the mix come the layers of our holidays past, whether good or not-so-good and our expectations for what will be, whether realistic or not. All of this can make this a tender time of year.

I guess I’ve learned through the years that when I get into that place of betwixt and between, with all of those layers, I first need to try to ground myself in the present moment. First of all, just be where I am. To allow for the stillness just to be and to allow what will come to come. And perhaps it is in those moments that bits of grace can come and maybe even surprise us.

In that spirit, here is a poem by Anna George Meek that I recently rediscovered. May your season have some moments of grace and connection that you didn’t anticipate.

An Old Man Performs Alchemy on His Doorstep at Christmastime

Cream of Tartar, commonly used to lift meringue and
angel food cake is actually made from crystallized fine wine.

After they stopped singing for him,
the carolers became transparent in the dark,
and he stepped into their emptiness to say
he lost his wife last week, please
sing again. Their voices filled with gold.
Last week, his fedora nodded hello to me
on the sidewalk, and the fragile breath
of kindness that passed between us
made something sweet of a morning
that had frightened me for no earthly reason.
Surely, you know this by another name:
the mysteries we intake, exhale, could be
sitting on our shelves, left on the bus seat
beside us. Don’t wash your hands.
You fingered them at the supermarket,
gave them to the cashier; intoxicated tonight,
she’ll sing in the streets. Think of the old man.
Who knew he kept the secret of levitation,
transference, and lightness filling a winter night?
— an effortless, crystalline powder
That could almost seem transfigured from loss.

Blessings,

 Tom

Rev. Thomas Disrud he/him, Associate Minister

First Unitarian Portland

tdisrud@firstunitarianportland.org