I am unworthy of the Lamb.
I do not appreciate the gifts which are given to me.
I am not Wonderful, able to spin plates or planets. I cannot knit irises of any kind.
I am not a Counselor, able to illuminate and comfort, to see what ails and provide a sweet balm.
I am not Mighty. I am unable to bring back the dead, stop the blizzard, command a screach out of an eagle.
I am not Everlasting. I ache and rot.
I am not Peace embodied. I flare with anger, I am contentious, I lash and buck.
I am not the fruition or the promise. Prophets never saw me with aged eyes, or spoke of me until their tongues cracked.
But I act like they did, sailing through the days with my gaze fixed at the mirror as if, as if, as if.
Christmas Eve is a throttler. We put the presents under the tree, make sure they are arranged nicely, step back. There is something missing…I think. Something seems off and wrong. Who did we forget? Who hasn’t forgotten me?
The answer to both questions is the same.
And I am sorry.
Beautiful.
Merry Christmas.
Love, Steph
Yes.
Merry Christmas, my friend.
Oh wow, Gretchen. I need to read this again and again. I was very down last night, things happened and we never even made it to Christmas Eve service. I wanted to blame anybody, everybody. But it comes down to me. My priorities, the One I’ve forgotten-or worse, not kept in 1st place. I haven’t treated Him as the King of Kings, more like the neighbor down the street. I too am sorry.
Thanks for the beautifully penned words.
Joanne’s last blog post..Happy Birthday Michael!
Excellent. Thank you. To Him be all honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.
Absolutely beautiful! I LOVE this!
I hope you had a merry Christmas!
Me too!
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Mopsy, Gretchen, sister, Isaiah has spoken to you and you have listened.
This should be your Christmas card next year. It is powerful, poignant and utterly beautiful. You have touched my heart and soul with your words. God speaks to us through you, so in a manner of speaking you are His prophet too.
Thank you for staying attuned even amidst the crazy-making magilla of Christmas Eve chores. While schlepping presents from hidden storage, you were gestating this post.
Thank you again for your prayerful poetry.
Amazing.
Man did I need to hear that.
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Amen. I love that: “I am not Everlasting. I Ache and Rot.”
I’m feeling this way, especially after spending Christmas with non-believing relatives. It’s different, you know?
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Thanks for this. And thanks for the author of Toddled Dredge for sending me here.
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