How beautiful on the mountain are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring glad tidings . . . (Paraphrased from Isaiah, the Bible)
Go tell it . . . (19th century Xmas hymn)
I sit here in the darkened living room this morning listening to the silence. I feel dusty and empty, totally devoid of thought or creativity, unsure if I’ve ever had anything to say, but pretty sure that I don’t have anything to say on this day. Certainly nothing that would inspire or create any incentive for someone to “rest beside the weary road” by reading these pages. Even coffee doesn’t jump start inspiration . . . So, Reader, beware.
It is not that I don’t want to inspire and uplift and reassure — it’s just all been said before, by voices more capable than mine. If ole’ Isaiah the prophet were to say to me, “Go tell it on the mountain, Girl!”, I would be lost. Tell what? To whom?
What am I even doing here sitting in the dark, listening to the various early morning creaks and groans and complaints of an old house and an old body?
If I were to heed his exhortation, in my imagination, I can see myself ascending the rocky steps of the mountain, arriving at what I’ll call a summit, looking around, and since there’s not much here, choosing to sit and rest awhile, and listen. The twitter of birds. The rustle of darting chipmunks. Maybe a squirrel scolding me, sounds angry. Am I interfering with his nut hunt? Some unknown sound that could be faintly alarming if I let myself think of bears, or worse, bear hunters . . .
The mountain is supposed to be where I come to talk to God in the myths and stories, right? The Wise Old Person? The prophet? But there is no one here, no words . . . None to hear, none to say, no one to listen if I indeed had some TO say . .
So on this day, one week before Christmas, all I have to offer you is an invitation to join me in the empty silence, and listen to whatever is there . . .
. . . maybe it is the plodding footsteps of an old donkey carrying a young, tired, and likely very discouraged and uncomfortable young woman to some unknown place for an unknown task for which she is totally unprepared. It is very dusty on that road . . and she is so swollen with the child she bears that she cannot even see her feet . . .
. . .how beautiful are the feet . .