Roads in my Roses There are roads in my roses That only I can see, When Spring time digging Reveals them to me. Rusty now against my heart, The car had traveled through the years. Remembering, I see again, This car, new. And through my smiling tears, I see it launched By then-small hands Busy under a bowed little head, On roads that reached forever, But never left my flowerbed.
O Lord of my aching back and bruised knees From struggling with the ladder to string up colored lights And from crawling under the house to drag out the plywood Nativity silhouettes Because I do not want to be the only one in the neighborhood Not showing the proper Christmas spirit. O Lord of my anxieties and sleepless nights From worrying about my Christmas budget And anguishing over what to buy for each of my loved ones So that they will know how much I love them. O Lord of my aching feet and exhaustion From trying to keep up with my frantic schedule, A chaotic calendar of Christmas parties, pageants, and extra holiday baking O Lord of my headache and extra five pounds From too little rest and too much to eat. O Lord of my Christmas, Hear my cry! Save me from MY Christmas…
“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.” Isaiah 9:2 (KJV) “Come in, come in, I want to show you something!” Edna grabbed at my arm as I walked by her room in the nursing center where I worked. “My daughters put up a tree for me.” It was a couple of days before Christmas and we were busier than usual; I was tempted to hurry on by, to explain that I didn’t have the time. But, the look on Edna’s face told me that medical records could wait. At 93, Edna’s grip on my arm was still firm and steady. Even though virtually blind, she skillfully led me to a small artificial tree sitting on the table next to her bed. It was decorated with homemade ornaments and a…
Once again, as with every Christmas, I believe that there is a great yearning that wells up from deep inside our souls to respond to the “great joy” of the angels’ announcement to the shepherds, to follow the beckoning Star to find the Holy place where Christmas miracles never cease, where every Christmas promise is fulfilled. However, even though we long for the comfort and joy of this sacred realm, we often look for it in stories about talking snowmen, magical reindeer, and Santa’s elves—all of the trappings but none of the essence and truth of the birth of Jesus. For years I have loved and collected Christmas books during Advent, but I have become increasingly concerned about the content and number of books that claim, “This is a story/book about the true meaning of Christmas”, but lead you farther from the truth with every page. So, this year, I…
Do you still fly by my window When the wind blows? I can't quite hear you and I can't yet see, But, I know you're there; I know you come. I know you run in the morning sun; You prance and you dance; And you shout and sing— Spirits of childhood? Angels with wings? Or, are you memories that mock me Of what is no more— Demons of glee who tap at my door, taunt me, Then hide, to laugh at my finding Nothing there? Or, are you a part of me-- Forever young, longing To play in the Autumn sun, A part of me forever free, Forever strong and lovely, Forever one with you? Ah, Yes! I see you now! Shimmering wings— Full of Light! Laughter! Joy Unending! I know you, my Dear Companions! Come! Take my hand; Carry me to that Promised Land!