Little Mercies. . .

 

Dickens said. . . ‘I wear the chains I forged in life’

For better or worse we forge them link by link.  And I like to think they are good habits of ours that I call little mercies or the more common,  tender mercies.  I felt this many times.  I often started something I could not stop because people I loved depended on that little something.  Whether it was a fire in the fireplace when the grandchildren especially visited or I set the table a certain way with cloth napkins for them or when I make Christmas cards.

“I am going to live, Eleanor’,  George said after his heart attack.  ‘I am going to live and we will frame Ronnie’s card and put it on the dresser.’   And he did and he looked at it every day and had many long years.  And Marylouise said I set your cards on the mantel where they stay .  You have no idea how many times I look at the rose card and it gives me strength to go on.  And this is one of the reasons I was born, to stretch out a hand.

Most of us have no idea when we do a something that encourages an Other.  I was fortunate in that I learned and people have told me when they have been touched by something I have done.  How very important to do that little act of mercy.  I have heard a harrumph when I have labored over a something with someone standing nearby and succeeded to follow with a heavenward thank you.  Even as a child I understood that heaven seldom gets thank yous.  When was your thank you sent heavenward?  Send it now. . .

Thank You

My days are littered
with murmuring thank yous
for gifts unbidden. . .

for the stray thought
giving answers
to questions I did not ask. . .

for the beating heart
too tired even to stop
and glad that it did not. . .

for the quivering morning
poised to take flight
through a day hard pressed. . .

to a night, bidden
with unfaltering love
as a thank you. . .

for a day loved through. . . .

 

photo by
John Holmes