Ahhhhhhghhhhhhh, is more or less what’s in my mind, to be honest. Something went wrong with my password to my Facebook page, and I’ve been fighting@#$%@ Facebook to get it back for the last three or four days.
Which is why I didn’t post something for the Third Sunday of Advent—or the first night of Hanukkah, which this year is the same day (December 14).
I don’t think I can mention Hanukkah without expressing deep sorrow for what happened on the first night in Australia, and I do.
Given that, it feels somehow wrong to note that the Third Sunday of Advent is called “Gaudete Sunday” (Rejoicing)—but it is.
The third candle of our wreath is the pink candle, traditionally the “Joy” candle, to note the lifting of our hearts toward God in the expectation of the coming of Christmas. Let us look for peace within our hearts, and share joy with those we meet along our way.
I post a link every year for Gaudete, to one of the performances of this song. There are many versions, by different performers, but my favorite is Michael McGlynn’s Anuna arrangement:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDT-fZTJl3Q
(Youtube video opens in a new browser tab or window when you click on the link.)
This pink candle is not part of an Advent wreath, but I thought I’d use it for the occasion. The figurine with it is a depiction of Mother Hildegarde von Bingen, a famous abbess, composer and healer. I thought it might be appropriate to invite her presence, as well as Claire’s…
Excerpt From A BLESSING FOR A WARRIOR GOING OUT, Copyright © 2025 Diana Gabaldon
I was cleaning the objective of my microscope, simmering tea, and making lists, more or less simultaneously, when I heard someone come in through the open front door, and light footsteps come pattering down the hall. I’d just stood up when Totìs burst into my surgery.
“Granny Claire!” He was red in the face and panting like a steam engine, trying to push words out between gasps. “Papa… G-g-gran… da…”
“Sit.” I took him by an arm and compelled him into my rocking chair, hoping the motion would divert him long enough for him to catch his breath. I gave it a push and stepped back. His eyes went wide as the chair rocked, and luckily, so did his mouth; I could hear the whoosh of air and smiled.
“All right,” I said. “Keep breathing. Don’t talk. Three more good breaths and then you can tell me what kind of mischief your Da and Grand-da have got up to. Oh—” The thought suddenly occurred to me. “Is a young man called William involved in whatever’s happened?”
He nodded vigorously, and took his third breath.
“Papa-fell-and-his-leg-is-broken!”
“What? I mean—where is he? Is your Grand-da or William with him?”
“Yes. We… we were…” He panted for a few seconds, swallowed and told me the whole story, short and shocking. By the time he had finished, I had stuffed several rolls of bandages and bottles of honey water into my emergency kit and had the bag on my shoulder. I snatched the emergency bottle of whisky from the shelf and stepped out into the hall, where Totìs was jittering to and fro.
“Show me where they are,” I said, and he vanished through the door like a hummingbird, with me in clumsy pursuit.
[end scene]
Please visit my official webpage for A BLESSING FOR A WARRIOR GOING OUT (Book Ten of my Outlander series of major novels) to access more excerpts from this book, and information about it.
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