Feed Sacks & Christmas (Believing Is Seeing)

It was almost a year ago since we piled into the back of the wagon to take the day long trip to town with Papa. We stocked up on provisions at the mercantile, papa even threw in a licorice whip for us each. We were all outfitted with a new pair of shoes, for Sundays and for school, then off to the feed store for the grand finale. It was there that we would pick out the feed sacks which would eventually become our Christmas dresses. I can still see the grin on papa's face as we pursued the many patterns just as if we were in one of the finest stores in England or France. We picked out three of the loveliest patterns, three matching sacks per dress, just enough for mother, sister and me.

It had been eight months since our little excursion with papa. The summer had been long and hard with plenty of work for us all even the harvest had since come and gone.  We, sister and I, had just finished our chores and were tending our small winter garden when we heard papa bellow our names from somewhere out back. As we rounded the corner our eyes fixated on the cord stretched between two old oaks for thereon hung nine freshly washed feed sacks, (dresses in disguise). In the background stood papa laughing, patting mother gently on the shoulder as if somehow he could sense the new journey we were about to take, though this time not in a wagon but at mothers feet as she sewed and spun stories of  a time long ago.

With each cut and stitch she told us a story of men of old who, just like us, waited with anticipation after a long journey of their own though not for new clothes but for a king. She then went on to explain just as our dresses were hidden in a few old feed sacks so too would this King be hidden, from those who could not see, in the form of a little baby lying in a feed trough much like the one in our own barn. She spoke of the candles on our tree, how they transformed darkness into light and how this babe would light the world with His love and peace and joy. We drifted of to sleep that night, there at mothers feet, as we listened to her weave the stories of the Christ Child into each and every stitch.

We, sister and I, walked into church on that Christmas morning as proud as we could be. Women all around were dressed in there finest but not on could compare to us in our Christmas dresses. We stood before the congregation, mother and papa right up front, and told them of our journey to town, of nine old feed sacks that were really dresses and a little baby who was actually a king. We told them of an expectant mother, shepherds in a field, learned men of old and two young girls at their mothers feet all who saw only because they first believed. We then gave to all, from a basket mother had prepared, a small quilted square with patterns from each of the sacks we had chosen long before. Attached to each was a simple note:
Just Believe and you too will see!

Kyle Boyd-Robertson

December 25, 2011

Good And Faithful Servant

Words can not express the sadness we feel over the passing of a faithful servant and friend. He was a great example of what one thinks of when the word Christian is mentioned.

From the first time I met him he was excited about life and eager to serve. When you felt yourself falling or veering off the path he was always there to help you maintain your way. When you found yourself struggling with life's menial task he was always by your side ready to help. He had a way about him that even at the lowest points in your life he would bring you joy and happiness. Often when I hear the Bible verse "prohibit not the little ones come to me." I think of him sitting in a classroom surrounded by little children as he proudly teaches them the ways of servanthood. Even in his later years, when his sight began to fail him and his joints began to ache, he continued to do little things to let you know he still cared and wanted only the best for you. Till the very end he maintained the heart of a servant.

As we laid him to rest today I couldn’t help think what a better place this world would be if more people showed just a few of the qualities he had, if more people rose to the level of selfless servanthood which he displayed. I realize many will scoff and say, “he was just a dog”, but they are wrong he was much more than that. Duncan earned and wore proudly the title of “service dog” and was a faithful companion to my wife and friend to all, very seldom thinking of himself as he strived to make the world around him a better place. 


Duncan…You will be sorely missed and I am a better person having known you. I pray that when I myself "shuffle off this mortal coil" my epitaph will read as yours "Well Done Good And Faithful Servant".
03/25/11

Solitude

"Would God that every servant of His understood and practiced this blessed art, and that the Church knew how to train its children into some sense of this high and holy privilege, that every believer may and must have his time when he is indeed himself alone with God. Oh, the thought to have God all alone to myself, and to know that God has me all alone to Himself!" --Andrew Murray
 

"As we learn the way of holy silence -- a silence that expects to encounter and hear God -- we begin finding our spirits in continuous communion with God. This can be true even when life rushes around us... We can be outwardly busy, while inwardly talking and listening to God." --- J. Brent Bill

This February I find myself more than ever seeking out times of quietness and solitude, times to sit alone at the feet of my God, hear His voice and be refreshed in His presence.

I have always been drawn to the Latin phrase solvitur ambulando which translates “it is solved by walking.” I envision the long, intimate walks God took with Adam and Eve in the garden, the glorious walks and talks He must have had with Abraham, Moses, David, Paul and Jesus and I am in great awe and humbled that He still wishes to walk in intimacy with you and me. It is in these quiet times I find myself growing closer to the heart of God and hearing His voice.

In this age of technology, with Televisions, Ipods, Cell Phones, Computers, we have filled our lives with so much noise almost to the point that we have forgotten how to stand before God in Holy Silence. Or maybe it’s we are just afraid of silence because in the silence we are stripped of our masks and forced to take a long look into the mirror of our soul laid bare before God. Maybe we surround ourselves with a constant barrage of noise because in the silence we are afraid of what we may hear. Whatever the reason God, as he often did with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, is calling us into a place of solitude, a quiet place where as Andrew Murray said God has us all alone to Himself.

As is it wise to look to the wisdom of those who came before us in pursuing any such endeavor, so it is when pursuing a path or time of solitude and quietness. Because Christ Himself made solitude such an important part of His daily rhythm of life and it is He I would truly wish to emulate I find it helpful to look upon His rituals, customs and beliefs. Since Jesus was a devout Jew as well as a rabbi I can imagine Him slipping of to a quiet place, saying a blessing as He lifts His prayer shawl, then holding it over His head for brief moment of reflection before draping it over His head and shoulders to commune with God just as had been done for thousands of years before. On the four corners of the prayer shawl are long fringes, known in Hebrew as the tsitsit. On the tsitsit is a combination of strands and knots equalling to 613 which reminds one that he is always surrounded by the commandments of Torah. Also when draped over the head it helps one to concentrate and focus during their time of prayer.

Since very few people could read in our early history most things were passed down orally. It would not have been an uncommon sight to see a young boy sitting alone with a handful of stones, casting them one by one to the ground as he recited his prayers. This tradition carried on throughout the ages with such things as the orthodox prayer rope, prayer beads and chaplets. The beads or knots on the rope help one stay focused on God as well as provide a way to keep track when reciting specific prayers. I myself on occasion just like to hold a small chaplet in my hand when praying, having this physical connection sometimes helps me drown out all other distractions and stay focused on my true purpose, listening for the still small voice of the most Holy.

As I said before, I am drawn to the Latin phrase solvitur ambulando although I sometimes prefer to add cum Deo which changes the phrase to "It is solved by walking with God." Sometimes I walk along my garden path at home, sometimes on the beach and whenever I am able I walk the labyrinth and listen for His voice. The Labyrinth has been around since prehistoric times and has long been perceived as a sacred place.  The Romans adapted the ancient labyrinth into an ornamental floor pattern and the Christians in medieval times adapted  it once again for use in the cathedrals.  The most well known and revered of all medieval cathedral labyrinths can be found at Chartres Cathedral in northern France and was constructed around 1201 AD. The cathedral labyrinth was clearly meant to be a symbol of the Christian path or journey through life.  During the medieval times taking ones pilgrimage to Jerusalem to walk in the "footsteps of Christ" became quite dangerous. As an alternative Christians would often walk the labyrinth in the cathedral. Christians of this period would also walk the labyrinth on the eve of their baptism or confirmation and as an aide to prayer during Holy week. After medieval times the use of labyrinth as a spiritual tool was all but forgotten  and many were destroyed in later years. In recent years the labyrinth has enjoyed resurgence and many modern pilgrims walk the sacred labyrinth path as one of many tools to enhance prayer, contemplation and spiritual growth.

God is calling us, just as He did our Lord before us, to come away into a quiet place and commune with Him. Whether you choose to make use of a handful of stones, a prayer rope, walk a labyrinth or garden path it matters not, these are but tools to help bring us to a quiet and calming place where we can hear the voice of God, the Important thing is to seek out that place and listen for His voice.

 

It's Nothing But Love

Life was quite different if only but a year ago,

Stockings hung upon the mantle, Yule Log all aglow,

Tree festooned with lights and presents all around,

Carolers outside singing their voices to God resound.

Yes but just a year ago all seemed as it should,

Friends and family gathered round all seemed well and good,

The Christmas Spirit filled our hearts and filled the air,

Hope and Joy is all we felt without a single care.

Huddled close together my family did pray and wait,

Under the bridge in a snow covered makeshift crate,

A far cry from the luxury and opulence we once knew,

Far from the friends and family we once held true.

Upon a lonely corner I did stand, hand held out in need,

Just a dime or quarter to the bustling crowd I did plead,

If not for me... for my family will you share,

Please won’t you stop to offer just a simple prayer?

Walking “home” on that cold and dreary Christmas Eve,

My heart in anguish, and for my family I did grieve,

For I had nothing to give them no gifts did I bear,

Except a few pieces of candy and a half eaten pear.

As I arrived my hope was renewed and from me were lifted all of my fears

I fell to my knees, my heart filled with joy my eyes filled with tears,

For my dear family in my absence kept busy all that day,

To create for us the most spectacular Christmas display.

Dirty socks upon that makeshift crate were hung,

Upon a small bush strands of newsprint strung,

A simple cross with sticks the children made,

And for a manger a broken doll in a box was laid.

From within carried on voices oh so sweet Silent Night,

As candles provided them all a bit of warmth and light,

And there upon the cold dirt floor the Good Book lay,

Tattered pages opened to the story of that Holy day.

The day when God came down and in a lowly manger lay,

And among the poor and discarded chose to walk & pray,

Nowhere to lay His weary head in His short life

He came to save and upon Himself take all our strife.

A night filled with sadness turned to a day filled with cheer,

Though we had no possessions I felt much richer this year,

For the true meaning of Christmas was sent from above,

To put it quite simply....It’s nothing but Love.

Kyle Boud-Robertson

12/25/10

A Child Is Born

This night, in a dark alley, a child is born.

Could this be Him, the one about men of old have sworn?

Wrapped in newsprint, within a cardboard box He lies,

With no one to tend Him as all alone He cries.

The streets festooned with lights of red and green,

As holiday shoppers bustle by, the child unseen.

Angels gather round the babe their watch to keep,

As He slowly drifts into a wakeless sleep.

In a south side crack house, this night, a child is born.

Could this be He, the one about men of old have sworn?

Rolled in a rug, tucked gently beneath the pee stained bed,

On the floor His mother lets out a cry of fear and dread.

Faint hymns of distant carolers carry on the wind,

A Salvation Army bell rings just around the bend.

Unknown to all, the baby gasps for His last breath,

While a young mother contemplates her own death.

In a church this very night a special Mass is said;

To honor a child, which in a manger laid His head.

While in a dumpster yet another infant cries,

Bruised and broken yet another infant dies.

Each Child which in the lowliest circumstance is born,

Is He, the very one about which men of old have sworn.

For have you not heard what is done to the least of thee,

Is also none other than that which is done to He.

So as we remember the child in the manger so dear,

Let us not forget the young ones who cower in fear;

And as we celebrate the birth of God's only Son,

Let us make a vow to help all of the forgotten ones.

Written by: Kyle Boyd-Robertson 12/19/09

Dedicated to: Diana Joy Albertsen & her tireless efforts to help the "Forgotten Ones"

I'm Dreaming of a South Texas Christmas

Alone, in a small cabin far from home, I watched as the snow began to fall.  Being the first time I had actually seen snow, other than on television, I stared out the window and carefully studied each of the flakes as they slowly drifted downward, like little angels from the heavens, and gently found their new home on branches of fir trees and the ground below. It wasn’t long before that little flurry of “angels” sent out for reinforcements and they came with a vengeance, riding on the back of the north wind. Nothing was spared as they went about their apparent duty of transforming the landscape from a forest full of diverse colors and shapes to a single blanket of white.  Before nightfall the single blanket morphed into a three foot thick multi layered quilt concealing beneath all signs of summer and fall. 

 It was the fourth Sunday of the Advent Season and I couldn’t help but think how pleased the folks at the little congregational church in the nearby village must be with themselves.  After all they had been praying for a White Christmas, as they did every year, starting even before the leaves of Fall had finished their spectacular display of grandeur. I however had my thoughts far from that winter wonderland. As others were preparing for winter festivities and playing in the new fallen snow, I settled into my rocking chair next to the warmth of a newly stoked fire, sipped on a cup of freshly brewed hot tea, not iced as I am accustomed to, and dreamt of Christmas back in South Texas.

From Galveston to Corpus and all down the coast,

Lights from the bows to the sterns on all of the boats;

On the beaches of Padre children lay down and fan

With their arms and their legs to create angels of sand.

 From Goliad to Cuero, Gonzales and Cruz Calle,

On down to the Valley of the great Rio Grande;

Old Courthouses were lit in little town squares, 

As the merchants were busy selling their wares.

In Shiner and Schroeder in Yoakum and Runge,

Way down in Harlingen, Laredo and Palm Valley;

Weihnachten and Navidad  are blended together,

Into one celebration the bigger the better.

O Tannenbaum, las Posadas, Cowboy Christmas,

Are all sung under one roof here in South Texas;

Where the cultures combine in a joyous delight,

To Celebrate together that most Holy of nights.

Written by: Kyle Boyd-Robertson

The Map

Sitting here today, just thinking back on the ups and downs of my journey thus far.  I have a picture stuck in my head of a huge map with pin points all along the path.  It's exciting to look back and see all the places I've been. It isn't until I look closely though that I realize the only places with pin points seem to be the places in my life I have no desire to return to and would give almost anything to forget.


Under each pin point is a small scrap of paper with a single word written on it. I start to read each  one...pride, lust, control, jealousy, bitterness, profanity, idleness...I can't go on...in my shame I fall to my knees and cry out to my Lord, "Why must you torment me like this, why have you chosen to pin point only the lowest points of my life?"  He just  smiles, puts His hand on my shoulder and says "Come...walk with Me." 


He leads me down a long and familiar road full of rolling hills. As we near the top of the first hill I look ahead and notice  standing there a single cross. He asks "Do you remember this place?"  I answer rather sheepishly "Yes, I think I do, only it appears much different than I recall." He smiles and leads me on. This scenario repeats itself on each subsequent hill until finally we reach a stopping point.  At this time once again He asks "Do you now recognize the places we have been?" Somewhat confused I reply " Yes, but I don't understand I always thought these were the lowest points of my life, why do they each now appear on a hilltop with a cross" The answer comes "My son, what you see as the low points in your life are what I see as the highest points, because it was in these times you called on my Son and received deliverance from the things of this world which had entrapped you. As for the crosses those were the pinpoints on the map which pierced through all of your wrongdoings and sins. When I look at the map I do not see the paper, only the pinpoint."

• But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. II Corinthians 12:9-10