Eggnog – It’s Over . . . for Now by Peter A. Black

You – a loving and caring, thoughtful individual – may feel bombarded, if not overwhelmed, by the multitudinous matters of great import that day after day mount an assault on your consciousness, as wave after wave of distressing, heartrending news reaches you through every kind of media.

These impact your mind, engage your sensibilities and stir your emotions.
News of tragedy, disrupted lives, privation and loss that people suffer, may go right over some folks’ heads – especially if occurring on the other side of the country or the world. But not over yours; you’re sensitive. You wince, torn inside, because you’re already committed to supporting numerous causes, and are unable to accommodate yet another.

Who can fault you for lapsing into a few wistful moments of retreat to squeeze comfort from memories of good times and pleasant experiences past? – And from favourite comfort food? Although the year is young, its infancy is about over, yet there’s time enough for the resumption of diet and exercise routines or whatever you may have resolved on January 1^st. (Disclaimer: Don’t  take that as actual advice.) Point: even caring folks need a break from clamouring calamity.
 
Before I commenced framing these musings I went to the fridge and extracted a carton of eggnog, a vestige of the Christmas, New Year and Festive Season. I admit it. I’d spun this supply out as long as I could. It was still fresh, coddled in chilly recess at the back of the fridge.
Please don’t grimace if you can’t stomach that enchanting elixir of Christmas cheer, and I implore you not to judge me – at least not too harshly – for my sentimental eccentricity.

And so, I prepared a bold half-decaf coffee containing a generous dash of eggnog and milk. I ‘nuked’ it to bring the temperature back up to steaming hot and perched it nearby the computer, for sipping on the job, and then began these ramblings. Aahh, the festive season lives! But I know it’s really over once the stored up eggnog runs out.

What particularly signals a season of the year or in your life truly over? You no longer cling to it; you know it’s dead and gone. Each season in nature begins and ends, although there can be overlap and fudging of the signs, such as when wintry weather doesn’t come till well after winter’s official commencement, or we get a premature blast in an early snow dump.

A woman holds on to her wedding dress for years, picturing her daughter wearing it on her wedding day. Tragically the girl dies young. The woman’s husband forsakes her for another’s embrace, yet she occasionally plucks that cherished dress from the closet and holds it to her cheek. Fresh tears fall, spotting the silken white memory. Oh God, help him remember his vows; bring him home to me, she sobs. But no, he divorces her.

It’s over. The dress can now go. Although wounded she has no lack of love in her heart, yet this is the first day of the rest of her life. It’s time to move on – but only thoughtfully and prayerfully. Time to heal. And so, she presses on, with gratitude for the good that was, for the good that is, and for the grace that will lead her on to discover the good that God has in store.

The spirit of Christmas lives on in grateful, loving hearts. The season’s festive trappings are stored away and its comfort food and drink are gone for now. Nevertheless, Jesus our Saviour, our Emmanuel – the God who is with us – comforts us along life’s pathway. 

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Photo Credits: Eggnog Cup: Polyvore.com
Wedding dress: A. Black; Wooded Trail: P. A. Black

Peter writes a weekly inspirational column and enjoys singing inspirational music and playing piano, organ and accordion, and encourages the upward focus. His latest book –  "Raise Your Gaze ... Mindful Musings of a Grateful Heart" – reflects this in a variety of brief articles and stories:
Author:
"Parables from the Pond" – a children's/ family book (Word Alive Press)
"Raise Your Gaze . . . Mindful Musings of  Grateful Heart (Angel Hope Publishing)

Blog Raise Your Gaze
Email:      

 

If Worms Could Scream and Fish Could Cry --Peter A. Black

Tom loves to fish. Rod, bait and tackle in hand, he heads off to his favourite fishing spot. Coaxing an unwilling worm from its tangle of squirming companions in the cool darkness of the can, he feeds its writhing body onto the hook, piercing it again and again – multiple times, until it is secure.

Every twist and wriggle the creature makes in response to the pain results in pricking and cutting against the vicious barb, thereby increasing its suffering in its agonizing journey to the water and death by injury and drowning, or as the prospective meal of an unsuspecting fish.

How useful worms are – invaluable friends of gardeners and farmers. They help to aerate the soil, break down stubborn clay, and assist nature in converting vegetable waste into useful, nutritious compost and enriched humus, to feed the flowers that brighten our lives and enrich the food that sustains them. What harm has the worm done to deserve such a fate as is imposed on it by the likes of Tom? None, I say. None.

I’m given to understand that the lowly earthworm and its grownup brother, the night crawler – prized by many a fisher, have bodies that are highly sensitive to pain. But what if worms could scream? Out loud? Would Tom be so ready to do his deed without sparing a thought for the suffering he’s causing?

Tom casts his line, and a healthy bass glides out from the seclusion of the reeds, and launches a strike at the morsel suspended live and tantalizing before his gaze. Sweet flesh, but part rips off and he doesn’t get the whole meal because the fisherman flicks the rod, snatching it to hover a short distance away. The fish isn’t beaten yet; his meal is still in sight. He moves in again. And strike – he’s got it! Searing agony floods his being, as the concealed hook firmly lodges in the roof of his mouth. An intense but short battle between the angler and the fish ensues. It is the battle for his life.

Try as he might, that bass can’t escape the hook. The barb sees to that. Eventually he’s reeled in. Tom nets him, scooping him from the water. A strong hand grips the fish behind the gills, and Mr. Bass’s glazed eyes stare into the face of his captor. Tom proceeds to extract the hook, wiggling it this way and that with long-nosed pliers. Unspeakable pain. The fish is drowning in air now that he’s out of the water. The hook point and the barb continue to lacerate his mouth.

Finally, he is free of them. The fish is then struck dead and placed in the icebox. Tom is jubilant. This is a good catch, a handsome specimen; one that didn’t get away!

But what if the worm could have screamed and the fish could have cried, pleading for mercy in language Tom could understand? Would he be so willing to enjoy nature and the peace and quiet of a day’s fishing? Is it fair? Life isn’t fair. Many things in life are unfair.

The inspirational point? Sensitization. May we live thoughtfully and humbly, aware that, in our pursuit of excitement and enjoyment of nature, and even the acquisition of food, many creatures often pay a high price.

Our redemption cost!
Heaven’s Best suffered, nailed to a cross.
Unfair, but necessary.

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Peter A. Black is a freelance writer in Southwestern Ontario, and author a children's / family book, "Parables from the Pond.". A version of this article was

published in his weekly column in the July 19, 2012 edition of The Watford Guide-Advocate. His articles have appeared in 50 Plus Contact, and testimony.