I will pause amidst the delightful chaos of my Christmas Eve preparations to send my deepest wishes for a Merry Christmas to all.
I didn’t get my Christmas cards out this year so will send my wishes this way.
– For Perry, Helen, both Heathers, Monica and Marlee,
– for the victims and families I have come to know personally over the years,
– for all the victims I have met or talked to,
– for all the other victims
– for all the victims’ families, – children, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, cousins and in-laws
– for those, and for all those who have become a special part of the fabric of my being since I first took an interest in what was happening in Cornwall – those I met in and outside courtrooms, or through telephone calls, or, yes, indeed, through the website
I thank you for enriching my life. I truly do. Through your pain, heartache, confusion, disbelief and anger we have all forged friendships. For me those friendships are a blessing. One of those silver linings in the often dark and stormy clouds.
To all of you, and to those whose friendships I valued before Cornwall, this Christmas I pray that your homes are with an abundance of laughter and love, and I pray that at this beautiful time of year God in his mercy and goodness will fill your hearts with the joy, love and peace that He alone can give.
This Christmas I personally thank God in a special way for bringing you into my life. I have learned so much from each and every one of you.
And, on this the eve of our Saviour’s birth I pray that He will ease the pain of those who are suffering and hurting, and that He will grant those who need it the strength, grace and wisdom to carry on. I do believe that at Christmas time God pays special heed to our prayers and pleadings.
There is much to be thankful for. A good time for us all to pause and recall our blessings.
With that, a beautiful Christmas legend I’d like to share…
The Legend of Robin Redbreast
From ‘A Christmas Stocking’ by Louise Betts Egan
It’s the legend of how the robin got his little red breast. This is the little robins which sing year ‘round in the British Isles, and especially heartily it seems in December.
On that first Christmas, it is said, the night was wrapped in a bitter chill. The small fire in the stable was nearly out, and the Mother Mary worried that her baby would be cold. she turned to the animals about her and asked them for help.
“Could you blow on the embers,” she asked the ox, “so the fire might continue to keep my son warm?”
But the ox lay sound asleep on the stable floor and did not hear her. Next, Mary asked the donkey to breathe life back into the fire, but the sleeping donkey did not hear Mary either. Nor did the horse or sheep. She wondered what to do.
Suddenly, Mary heard a fluttering of little wings. Looking up, she saw a plain, brown-coloured little robin fly into the stall. This robin had heard Mary calling to the animals and had come to help her himself. he went over to the dying fire and flapped his wings hard.
His wings were like little bellows, huffing and puffing air onto the embers, until they glowed bright red again. He continued to fan the fire, singing all the while, until the ashes began to kindle.
With his beak, the robin picked up some fresh, dry sticks and tossed them into the fire. As he did, a flame suddenly burst forth and burned the little bird’s breast a bright red. But the robin simply continued to fan the fire until it crackled brightly and warmed the entire stable. The Baby Jesus slept happily.
Mary thanked and praised the robin for all he had done. She looked tenderly at his red breast, burned by the flame, and said “From now on, let your red breast be a blessed reminder of your noble deed.”
And to this day, the robin’s red breast covers his humble heart.