A pieced-together patchwork life

A life: a rich tapestry.
more than
a fabric or cloth.
a woven
intermingling
of warp and weft.

A life: pieces
of perfection: beauty
tightly woven.
constantly even
in purpose and effect.
threads intertwine
in harmony.

A life: patches
of sorrow, ugliness
tacked over holes
of loss, and bereavement,
and sadnessess too many to count.
threads strain
to hold it all together.

A life: threads
loosening in uncertainty.
the cloth disintegrating.
job loss, sickness,
change too
difficult to bear.
holes appear.

A life: hues
with far-off distance
merged into
an impression
of beauty
or pity
or admiration.

A life: black
threads of sorrow; the
gold of joy;
happiness rainbows
and earthen moss-green
everyday life.

My life: more than
a tapestry.
stitched onto
the firm canvas
whose name
is Jesus.

A battle won

An attempt at a poem, on Mary de Muth's blog:

We wage a hidden, unseen war

in life.  While deep enmeshed in strife

of everyday living, we store

thoughts, unthought, still lying

 before  our eyes, while  time

rushes on.

We dare not stop to look.

Yet,

lost in noise and turmoil sore

we need to pause: tune

deafened ears towards that song

from our Commander’s voice.

‘See the Enemy’ he calls

‘and do not weep. Such as he

Is long defeated. This battle

Is Mine. I joy journey with

utter gladness that you are with

Me.

This is a beautiful time.

Rejoice. The battle

is won.’

Captain, my Captain

Father, my Father
May I know you as a daughter.
Beloved, cherished, affirmed,
special.
Loved.
May I be a loving sister to your children.

Captain, my Captain.
May I acknowledge, respect and obey you
as my leader and authority,
seeking to carry out your wishes,
keeping my eyes fixed on you
as a servant girl looks at her Master.

Spirit, my Spirit
May you be in me and with me
breathing your life
through this earthly body
bringing eternal hope.

The Man Jesus

Did he know the weight of generations?
Expectation of performance,
living up to forebears of greatness?

Could he build an ark
In times of drought, or, like Abraham
embark on a journey to unknown places?

Would he become Israel, leader of a nation,
or part the Red Sea as Moses did
with a raising of his staff?

Should he become a warrior king like David
or build a mightier temple
than Solomon?

Did he know his greatness
from the humble beginnings
as a carpenter’s son?

Had he heard whispers
in the night between his
parents?

Did he wonder as he read of
his genealogy? So many generations
leading to his appointed time?

He became his own man, fulfilled his own destiny,
completed and began anew his Life’s work.
The Child of all the generations. The Christ.

The dreamer

Joseph
like your namesake in Egypt,
more Egyptian than Hebrew,
yet of your blood,
did you always dream?

Joseph
as a small boy
learning your carpentry trade
at your father's side
did you dream then?

Did you dream of creating

something beautiful from wood

with hands that had learned to be clever:

a bowl, a table, a simple bed

a dream of creation?

Did you dream of crafting

sturdy doors so strong

they would withstand

an onslaught from Roman soldiers
a dream of protection?

Did you dream of hearing
God's voice, that inner knowing
of being told where to go
and what to do:
dreams of directions?

Did you in your wildest dreams then ever think
that God would indeed speak to your soul in your dreams?
Dreams of creation of a tiny baby
Dreams of protection of a mother and child
Dreams of direction for your lives?

Joseph, you were a wonderful dreamer

On the hillside

Shepherds huddle with their flocks of sheep upon the hills,
The air is cold, the night is dark; this is not the time for thrills.
This is no time for gluttony, for feasting till they burst
This is a time of longing, of craving and of thirst.

Long have these folk awaited a saviour for them all
‘Tis in the long night watches that they listen for the call
To hear the news they yearn for, a sounding of the trumpet horn
Instead an angel tells them that a baby boy is born.

This is no kingly coming, with noise and pomp and power
Whose arrival is announced from every mountainside and tower.
A king who would deliver them from their occupiers’ hands:
Instead it is a baby before whom they cannot stand.

For into tiny Bethlehem those shepherds hurried then
To see that little babe who is the Rescuer of Men.
As they kneel before that manger wherein the Christ child lies
A wondering world can see Him through those humble shepherds’ eyes.

It's Christmas

Tinsel and glitter, razzle and sparkle
Lighting our lives in the midst of the dark.
Silver and gold of the fairies and angels
Moonlight that glints on the snow in the park.

Cinnamon and cloves with the smell of spiced fruit
Warming our bodies with promised delights
Mulled wine and mince pies, nutmeg and ginger
Sing to our souls of the coming of Light.

Mysterious parcels in brightly wrapped paper
Colourful cards come from near and from far.
Stockings hung next to a cosy warm fireplace
Eager eyes hoping to glimpse that bright Star.

It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas, we’re impatient with waiting
It’s hope, love and joy all mixed up in one.
We love all the feasting, the giving, celebrating,
Enjoying this time when we have so much fun!

Christmas Wishes

We wish for all kinds of things at Christmas: these wishes are somewhat different…

I wish I’d been a friend to her, that humble teenage mother
We’d share our laughter and our joy, our fears with one another.
I would have given all I owned to help her make that journey
As she obeyed the word of God , which fulfilled all her yearnings.

I wish I’d been a shepherd boy upon those hills so cold
I’d huddle close up to my sheep and guard them in the fold.
I wouldn’t be so terrified if angels then appeared
I’d laugh and shout and dance with joy: I wouldn’t think it weird.

I wish I’d been a learned man who lived in foreign lands
Who used his brain to study stars, not fight in mighty bands.
I’d pack my bags, gather my friends and make that journey far.
I’d keep my gaze through all those days upon that travelling star.

I wish I’d lived in Bethlehem just near that lowly stable.
I would have rushed on over there as fast as I was able.
I know I would have marvelled at the wonder I would find
The tiny babe a mighty King: the Saviour of mankind.

New Life at Christmas

The nights are dark, the days are dim,
The hearts grow ever weary
And so we turn to gaze at Him
Who holds us all so dearly.

How could this tiny baby boy
Have come to mean so much?
It was not just His mother’s joy
It is His gentle touch.

He came to set us all quite free
From guilt and shame and harm
If our blind eyes could only see
The love and peace and calm.

This is my prayer at Christmas tide
For all of us on earth
That we kneel at that manger’s side
And know that wondrous mirth.