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Kangaroo Korner

posted Sep 1, 2015, 11:33 AM by Bowmansville UMC


  Hi, Everyone.  I hope summer has been good to you and is still going strong in the nice weather department.  Sel and I enjoyed an amazing trip, filled with so many blessings that I could write a whole additional column just reflecting

     God's graciousness to us, and perhaps another time I will do just that.  For now, though, I can't believe we are once again at the start of a new Church year, and that it has been a year since I sent the last Christmas story!  But once again, I will be using a 4-part format as I re-tell the 3rd story from the writings of Paul O'Neill for the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.                                                                         


Part 1

     It was the night of Christmas Eve, and somewhere on the other side of eternity, the Lord again called before Him His youngest angel, and once more requested him to return to the world of mankind--this time to bring Him the name of the person that best continued the work of His Son on Earth.  So the angel quickly unfolded his wings and began his quest, hovering over a great city filled with people of every race, creed and age.  (Now, throughout this story, as in the others, it is important to remember that angels' eyes can see what humans cannot.)  As the night progressed, the angel would encounter the belief that man is created in God's image, but what DEFINES that image?  He would observe several people, each with a different gift to offer, and one soul with a precious gift to be found that had been lost.


     And the snow it comes down and it muffles the sound of dreams on their way to tomorrow...

     Here the tragically beautiful and the beautifully tragic drift through this night in a last quest for magic.

     Their faces are masks that so artfully disguise the wounds in their hearts, the scars in their eyes.

     Now, these scars in their eyes never hurt, never bleed; but like cracks in a mirror they distort all they see.

     For when the heart's an open wound, its greatest threat, I fear, is that the salt rubbed into it does come from one's own      tears.

     For on this night, can one deny the gift of a more sympathetic eye to cast upon our fellow man;

     And on this night to understand the frailty of childhood dreams like fireflies over summer streams.

     And if one dared to remove time's veil, could one retrace those childhood trails?

      But whispers in the winter's wind told of rescued dreams, forgiven sins.

      And who among us shall be deemed to rescue some forgotten dream?

      So on this night of Christmas Eve, as once again the spirit weaves its snow-swept dreams and colored lights with bits of magic into each life,

      And as the snow comes gently down, its soul intent to reach the ground to cover scars the world still feels--perhaps to give them time to heal...

     For as men invest in money and professors in what they know,

     God invests in mercy, like winter invests in snow.


Next month, "The Angel Observes Several Souls".

May you continue to feel God's presence in your lives, and please pray for the children...Mary