It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—the panic, the flight, the last glimpses of our ancestral lands. Nor the trek through the woods at night with a few belongings, watching for enemy soldiers and other possibly unfriendly eyes, hiding, then walking again, walking, hiding, walking again, carrying the children, supporting the aged parents, our men …
November, for me, is a natural month to ponder the passage of time from birth to dying. Typically, October winds and rain in Canada’s Pacific Southwest leave many trees barren as they stand soldierly for All Saints’ Day on the 1st. And with the dying year our hearts grow perhaps more attuned to hold vigil …
“… affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.” Affliction, a treasure? A treasure we don’t have enough of? Strange words. Strange words for a world that medicates pain. Strange especially for our age that prizes material wealth and physical and emotional wellness seemingly above all other values. Very strange words, …
Monika Hilder 