April 7: Cheerful Company, Glowing Fire, Riches, New Cartoon

A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they advanced towards it.  Passing through the wall of mud and stone, they found a cheerful company assembled round a glowing fire.  An old, old man and woman, with their children and their children's children, and another generation beyond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday attire.  The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a Christmas song; it had been a very old song when he was a boy; and from time to time they all joined in the chorus.  So surely as they raised their voices, the old man got quite blithe and loud; and so surely as they stopped, his vigour sank again.

It's a happy little scene to which the Ghost of Christmas Present brings Scrooge.  It's set in a "place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth."  The point of this passage is the ability of even the poorest of people to give thanks for their blessings at Christmas time.

I live in a mining town in the Upper Peninsula.  About twenty or so years ago, the majority of families in this town worked at the mines.  The grandfathers worked in the mines.  The fathers worked in the mines.  The sons, when they graduated from high school, applied for jobs at the mines.  When the mines shut down or laid people off, the entire economy of the area suffered.  Even now, the threat of a strike or shut-down will make headlines for weeks in the local newspaper.

Last night, I wrote about my not-so-good Friday, how money worries had consumed me for most of my waking hours.  When I came across this paragraph about the old miner and his family this morning, I realized that I let dark thoughts control my life yesterday.  At the Good Friday service last night, my daughter sang a solo.  She was beautiful.  When I picked my son up from my sister-in-law's house after the service, he threw his arms around my legs and hugged me for half a minute.

I know that I need to be more like the old miner and his family.  They may live in the ass-end of the world, but they still celebrate.  In cheerful company.  In a glowing fire.  They revel in their blessings.  I've written about this subject before, but I have to keep reminding myself.  Blessings are everywhere.  Even in the bowels of the earth.

Saint Marty's life is full of riches.

Confessions of Saint Marty