Sunday Morning VII

Half remembered phrases. Half forgotten. Small bits and pieces of information once learned, rarely used, lost in the tide of life.

One such phrase is: Don't hide your light under a bushel.

Obviously, I have only half remembered it. For having said that, immediately the question comes to mind: a bushel of WHAT?

And for that matter, what exactly is a BUSHEL ?

I have absolutely no trouble at all in understanding what "my light" is. It's giving a smile instead of a frown, a word of praise and encouragement rather than the insult that comes first to mind, and giving a hug rather than an angry retort.

It's opening my ears to listen rather than interrupting with my own ideas (which is especially hard to do if they are long-winded!), answering an honest question with warmth and enthusiasm rather than defensive avoidance, and opening my arms wide in welcoming embrace even when another has done their best to shut you out of their life.

It's maintaining a positive attitude about the beauty still to be found in our world even when others would clobber you with dog piles of every conceivable negative.

It's fixing a meal for another when you, yourself, are not hungry, going to the grocery store with someone as a friend so they won't have to go it alone, sharing a song, putting our arms around another's distress, or accidently banging our thumbs with a hammer as we help with repairs.

It's holding a shaky ladder so another won't fall, sharing simple walks in a park or along an avenue, and creating laughter at meals shared together.

It's the small flame of daily contact and loving consideration that builds gradually into the giant torch which lights the world.

We can all think of ways to let our light shine. The confusion sets in when we have to define the measurement of a bushel. How many ounces are in a bushel?

And exactly what are we measuring? Feathers? Rocks?

Or is it possible we are measuring nourishment for the soul's journey . . . .
Chae