Grateful To Gibran

When people tell me I am too easy going with my children, I remember the words of Gibran.

Your children are not your children . . . For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow . . . Life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.”

And I rejoice to let my children follow their own path.

When people tell me I am too generous, giving to those that don’t deserve it, I recall Gibran.

You give but little when you give of your possessions. . . .For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them tomorrow? . . . And what is fear of need but need itself? . . . And there are those that have little and give it all.

These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty. . . “

And I feel blessed to be able to give knowing whatever I give away makes me ever richer in faith.

When I fell guilty for my debts, I think of Gibran.

And you receivers – and you are all receivers –assume no weight of gratitude lest you lay a yoke upon yourself and upon him who gives. . . For to be overmindful of your debt, is to doubt his generosity who has the free hearted earth for mother, and God for father.”

And I rest easy knowing my acknowledgement of their gift is the best repayment.

When my heart is broken and bitterness would make me curse my ex-lover, I reread Gibran.

“When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
 Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
 He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you
 that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.”

And I kneel with tears of joy, to thank God I have the choice to let go of bitterness and when I remember my lover . . .

“To know the pain of too much tenderness.
 To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy; to return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.”

To not let go of love but to feel it ever stronger, as I let my lover go and return to my Lord’s embrace.

Thank you Khalil Gibran.


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