Christmas morning in our humble loving home, my Dad and I would cycle five miles to Holy Mass. Only one bicycle between us, I would set off cycling, my Dad walking. After a while, I would leave the bicycle and begin walking. When my Dad caught up, he would cycle, overtake me and after a while leave the bicycle again, and so it went.
Eventually, we would arrive at our Sacred destination. I recall the beauty of it all, the whole thing, with joy and love in abundance. Christmas Day, sacrosanct then, sacrosanct now.
Singing at Christmas Holy Mass this morning evoked not only my childhood memory but an ancient reverence too. Elderly priest standing in awe, gazing on Baby Jesus lying in the manger touched my deepest soul. Reminded in a deeper way that God sent His only Son into this cold, oftentimes uncaring world, so I would have life and have it in abundance, mind boggling, confounding.
Myriad times I yearned to be chosen to sing at Christmas Holy Mass, I never was. God sees the end from the beginning, He knew exactly how it would all pan out, my journey to here fundamental and exceedingly valuable for my arrival at this Holiest of days, Christmas 2020.
Had my wish been granted earlier, a lot of dead-end learning for me.
Thankyou precious Lord, from my deepest heart, to do Your Will is my desire.
‘Lord, I give myself to you as a present. I don’t otherwise know what to do with who I am. Please let me exchange this weak and fragile self for Your Goodness. I place it in Your Hands. Amen’. (St. Catherine of Genoa)
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