And Heaven And Nature And We All Sing, An Advent Prayer

Hem in my heart that it would be wholly focused on You, beating to a rhythm of an Advent life

Hem in my words that they may speak only  blessing,  gentle peace, exuberant joy inspired by you

Hem in my mind that I would dwell on Your birth, Your life and Your transformative grace

Hem in my home, that we would live God honoring, Light giving, and Soul nourishing in this and every season.

And hem me in, by your power and not mine alone.

Glory and Honor to You

Bust open our hearts and prepare Him plenty of room

While Heaven and Nature and all God’s people sing,

Loudly, Joyously

With Hymns of Praise

Singing a Hemmed in Amen

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A Donkey, Carol, and A Soul In Need At Walmart

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I wonder if The Water Walker, the stretched out on the cross Christ came down into my Advent heart what He would find. I feel dirty as the dusty donkey that his parents road into town in the dark cold night, looking for warmth. And I passed a woman lonely at Walmart a few weeks back that I had known, she walks a lonely road herself and I didn’t speak. When I had a mouth that works my heart did not. I left her there without a touch of grace, not even a hello. So I could be the keepers of the inn whose heart would turn away the Mary and the Joseph of today. Looking for warmth and a place to birth the King of Kings. And I wonder if He were to walk in as I am covered up in paper and plastic if he would speak gentle correction and have me strip it all away. And say the tree with glitter shiny looks like excess in a world of want. That you can peel it all back and find just bone and flesh and marrow and beating hearts and Him and that is celebration enough. But then you’d have to peel back all the stuff, the boxes and the bows.

And so I wonder if He were to knock like Carol did a few weeks back, the Jehovah’s Witness at my door, what He would find that pleases Him of my preparing Advent heart. And if He were to shadow me in all my ways during all my days leading up to the 25th day of next month, what would he say of me. How when I walked the dog I hoped the neighbor didn’t speak because I wasn’t feeling particularly friendly at that moment. Too cold and focused on getting on with my selfish life.

Yes, I could be the innkeeper who’d turn away Messiah, if I’d turn away a neighbor on a cold November Day.

I wonder as a wander down the days leading to His birth, how I could prepare like a knower of and lover of and believer in Him. How I could honor Him and bless Him and glorify Him in all, that’s ALL I say and do, my every breath my every word, my every deed.

I simply wonder what the Knower of All and Lover of My Soul is beholding, of me and my house and my heart this Christmas Season.

I pray for grace. And I pray for eyes to see anew, all the Wonders of His Love.

Its a season of miracles and I long for the miracle of a worthy Advent heart, perfected at the Hands of a Stable Born King.

And a heart to seek and speak and love like one who knows better.

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Today I am participating in a five-minute writing excercise with others here.
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And I ask for forgiveness because it is highly likely I ran over five minutes. Colored outside the lines….got grace?

In My Dreams I Play A Song

In my dreams I play a song on a keyboard, piano
Not keys drab and gray.
And sing for you a song of hope with words,
They are my notes.
But oh how I wish that they would sound
Like music to your ears
The sharps the flats, allegro con brio
Beautiful chords played by dancing fingers on piano,
Ivories, like flying love gifts up and away, dolce
Kite tail like they waft and drift up to the
Heavens and to your ears.
In my dreams I play a song on the black and white
Keys that strike the chords of harmony and rifts
Up and down they dance in line, a beautiful song.
And I would play a song back straight on the bench
Hovered over piano shiny black
Not keyboard Macbook back lit.
No it would be a baby grand and there I would
Pour out my heart in song to you and let the notes
Sing and sway right to your soul.
And sing, like tender lullaby a song of
Hope and Longing, poco allegro.
But this is what I have instead
My words, not notes, not song
So dream with me that they are music
And listen while I play for you
A love song, a hope song, a grace song
As gift, that in the downbeat you would know
That
In my dreams I play a song on keys, piano,
Just for you.

(photo credit: wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons)

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Poetry

A funny thing happened on the way to poetry. And humor is long over due. Or due. Or something that involves laughter and joy. Because the world has a weight of its own and a heaviness that is expressed in phrases like the weight of the world.

And then there is the path to poetry. Which had some funny haha and funny odd things happen along the way to it.

There is a long story there that would wind you down a path you would rather not travel on. Should you choose to go there. You would likely feel lost and having not laid bread crumbs along your way, you may be a little mad at the writer and say I never really intended to walk down that long and winding road with you though I do love Paul and The Beattles.

And as much as I love a good story and you probably do too if you are reading, you are prone to like writing. Somehow the two seem to go together like sweet tea and mason jars. i know you thought I was going to say like hand and glove. I almost did. How did you know. But liking a good story as you do you may not be ready for a very long one.

And brevity is possibly a reason for embracing poetry. Though writing about brevity can actually be rather long and cumberson and tiring. So when writing about brevity and poetry it is important to keep it on the brief side or you may in fact lose your reader.

And if there is anything you don’t want to do when writing it is lose your reader. Oh, perish the thought of a lost reader along the way.

But there is a funny sort of thing or two that are worth telling in a short and sweet matter because the matter is sweet. So that would add a touch of the ironic which is always or almost always good to add to keep the reader interested. Irony is just so darn ironic.

But when you set upon a path and you don’t know where you are going, its a bit like being lost in the Hundred Acre woods like a bear and his friends and a  young boy named Christopher Robin who probably wanted to be lost because of the weight of his world. But he had his friends to keep him company in a wild and wooly world in those woods. Yes, he had a friend to hold his hand.

So when on this path of unknowing that involves poetry you may find that what you discovered all along was simply not really poetry at all. Though poetry was a byproduct. Or maybe you found poetry plus a large red cherry on top. Though not as laden with sugar as those cherries. But maybe it was sweeter and richer, in fact.

Because writing is a solitary endeavor, often. Most often. Which is good, because God is close by. But there is still the deep craving for another.

And writers can be lonely sometimes if they are not careful. Unless they turn on the music of the world, not the heavy world but the crisp and light and beautiful noise of the God-creation.

God had the brilliant idea that we live in community and breathe in community and in so living and breathing,  perhaps also writing in community.

So a funny thing happened on the way to poetry. I found a beautiful friend along the way. And you may too if you were to write with a friend, new or old.

You just may find the eternal on the path to your writing.

You may find a treasure. A friend.

This post is dedicated to Holly A. Grantham at A Lifetime of Days for stepping out in faith at the invitation to write in the unknown. She is a gift, she is a beautiful writer and she is now a friend. Her writing home is found here at www.walkingintheslowlane.blogspot.com. She has taught me more than words can express. But one day I will try. For now this is my offering of thanks.

linking with Emily and Michelle