Here with you

She had gotten up early in the make of the morn. The cold weather threatened to make a mishap of things but she persevered. People were trickling forth from out of their warm houses and pouring onto the streets. Christmas was here.

The bright lights shone in the roads and the shops were beginning to open. The sweetness of silence had been broken and the sunlight crystallised her worries. Like an icicle melting in mid air, she floated along the pavement looking for a bargain- anything would do.

With a hot chocolate in her hand and coffee on her mind, she thought of the tea drinkers and those that preferred fruit juices. All were welcome in the shops, who each vied for the pretty pennies and pounds of their customers.

The library was filling up now of people of all persuasions. Trying to escape the cold no- doubt or just pretending to be clever. The chattering classes sat down and talked and talked. Whilst the charity shops continued to count their customers on one hand even though their bargains boasted themselves brilliantly.

She had not fed the birds that morning. Their silence indicated the severity of the weather. Her hands numb from the cold, continued to type away at a frenetic pace, counting the hours and minutes she would have to complete her essay.

The usual faces were around. peopling her mind and the landscape. The quietness was just so good. It allowed her to think, and think she did.

Church had been good. She couldn't take it all in, but the bits she did she enjoyed. The truth hurts and she was in agony. It also set her free and she was eternally grateful to her parents for that. In the service it talked about the overwhelming problems faced by children by the onslaught of an indifferent world. You are led to believe that no-one cares, but deep down people have emotions that have to be nurtured and respected if the survival of the planet is to be taken into consideration. Love was the answer, but only Jesus can give perfect love.

So many times she had searched for something in her flat, only to find it when God saw fit for her to find it. So many times she had rushed headlong into a situation that just wasn't right, only to find salvation in the nick of time. What was she being saved for she asked herself? What did the world want with her. She was prepared to be hated for her faith. She remembered the song lyrics 'my kind of love' and thought about the times where life had brought her really low. No-one like to suffer, but life is pure suffering. The roughness of the rules, which seemed to constantly change, almost brought her to wreck and ruin. Yet she persevered and carried on.

She thought of the human race, and how it developed at differing rates. How people like to run before they can walk, like the yielding of youth, then be forced to be humble in the end. This humility that she attained to filled her with a pride that never wiped the smile off of her face. She wanted to do the right thing, even if it was the costlier and more inopportune way.

That she was a dismal failure, never made her stop wanting to be better. She just kept on trying- kept on going even if it was futile in parts.

Sweet songs echoed in her head. Sweet songs of remembrance and loss. Many a time she forced herself to remember to forget as the dawning of her death loomed large about her. She had fought, trying to keep the wolves from the door. The battle was constant. Her past was coming back to haunt her and she didn't like it one little bit. There was some poetic justice in her suffering. She had not respected God enough and when the Lord chose to discipline her through consequences, she had learnt the hard way.

Buster had been blaring his music again in the high street. This slice of life awoke her mind. It was competing with another set of music, but he didn't mind. Human sickness takes its place in society in a number of ways. Some play music loud, some cheat, some swear, some worship. All amounts to the same thing- escape.

Let us all escape this world and find joy in something. Moments of madness, so beautifully captured in Ecclesiastes, says there's a time for everything. That is so true.

When people look in the mirror, they see themselves disappearing. by Sir Francis Bacon, or gone like the traditional customs of Africa and the old countries being decimated by intruders- life never ceased to upset and educate her.

There were always family and friends. She wanted to be be rooted in reality, with the gift of giving at her beck and call. She did not want to profit from life- merely break even, then go when the curtain call come down.

Other people were her triumphs and disasters. Her turn was over and she knew it. Time to make a swift exit before the next curtain call caught her in a compromising situation.

This time of year was for family and friends. The tinsel twinkled in the night air and lifted her spirits. Even though a friend had said that 'people who celebrate Christmas should be wound up and shot' she still persisted. The scrooges of this world were not going to stop her smiling through the debris of disaster. She was going to enjoy herself in this sick sad world no matter what. Small tokens of love is what she was after and the memories that went along with them. A kind listening ear is what anyone wants. All else just flutters by.

She thought of him, they, her- her whole menagerie of friends and wished them all well. This was going to be a good Christmas with peace throughout the land. Thank you baby Jesus.