Dealing

It*s one of those mornings, and to top it off, it*s Monday.  My 10 o*clock client cancelled, which means my next client is at 2.  My driver does not mind a slow morning, so we are both sitting and staring at the week ahead.  It is spread before us.  I wait for the tufted titmouse (yes, it*s a bird) to return so I can show my bird-loving husband.  I am waking up...  slowly.

I spread the week before me:

A hand of cards

Laid on the table.

My client this morning cancelled

With deep apology.

I have the gift

Of more time available,

Another cup of leisurely coffee.

I watch the dust bath

Next to the front steps,

Hope the tufted titmouse returns

As I watch.

I lay the week down,

Wonder whether it will be a winning hand

Or simply one

Where the cards line up

Just so,

The game changed

So a handful of twos and threes,

Perhaps a joker thrown in,

Is really

All aces.

The count

Some days the count matters more than others.  How far along am I?  Have I reached some magical time when everything counts (or I don*t have to count anymore?).  I thought by now I*d have it straightened out.  I think I*ll be counting in some way, somehow, for the rest of my life.  It seems I need constant reminders that it*s all been counted already.  I*ve been counted already and the gift is mine in abundance, and so I can give.    Not count.  

This is for all my friends

Who count hours,

Paid and unpaid,

Supervised

And Un.

We are still in training.

This is for friends

More distant now,

Past any official count.

More distant now

You still count

Other things.

On the other side I know

You still count

Other things.

The letters after all our names

Line up like ducks.

Like the ducks across the way,

The ones who squabble for corn in winter snow,

We wait for spring

When feed will be abundant.

We wait

For the promise of spring,

The promise of grain given,

*A good measure, pressed down,

Shaken together, running over.

Put into our laps,

As we ourselves have given,

As we ourselves know the gift

Given already

Before we even began

The count.

We know the Gift.

*”Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”  Luke 6:38 (NRSV)

Gifts

I am still learning this.  Next year I may have learned it more.  It*s probably another of those things I will  continue to learn. This year because of non-driving thing, I did on-line shopping exclusively.  Hence the boots from England.  The boots that were originally exactly what were asked for.  But not by Christmas morning.  Hmmm.   Probably lots is wrapped up in this.  This Christmas I remember my father for whom Christmas was particularly important.  I remember the bear puppet with the squeaker in his head that he got me when I was in seminary.  It was the perfect gift.  He saw me with another puppet... and he saw me.  Hard to explain, but it was the perfect gift.  Thomas (the bear puppet)(named after Thomas Aquinas) is still a vital part of my puppet collection.

Do not order boots from England

That cannot be returned easily,

Even if they are a good price.

Do not order semi-gloss boots

When shiny boots are obviously

The right thing.

Do not order navy blue

When it will surely morph to hunter green

Two days after the boots are ordered.

Gift certificates are good things.

Remember gift certificates.

Unless it comes with an exact serial number

Do not order it.

Remember gift certificates.

But

Better yet:

Think of things which match

The person*s eyes

Or complexion,

Things that line up with

His sense of humor,

Her whimsy.

Things that say:

When I saw this I thought of you,

Exactly you,

The way you move

The way you smile

The way you wrote the letter from Santa

In alternating red and green lines,

Noting special appreciation

From Prancer.

Think of things that better say

When I saw this

I thought of you

Exactly you.