Peering into his world,
Un-surrounded by nature it seems,
The portal draws him into silence and abandon,
For those passing by.

Attention left to others in another universe.

 

 

 

A glance to the right takes in the snapshot,

Of a soul distracted by the opportunity,

To dive off course,

Down the alleyway,

Exploring the path exposed in a small window,

Off the street,

Of my mind.

 

Now, head turned, should the rest of me follow?

We travel with them not so frequently,

But those days are replete with meaning.

Thoughts of God,

Of grace filled moments,

At a meal together,

Praying,

The silly banter,

And the Silence,

All pours love and grace into the journey.

 

Our pilgrimage endures all things.

The Christmas House,
Readily awaiting the removal of problems accumulated,
Now appears to be under repair,

I cannot tell if they are rebuilding,
Or restoring,
Me to a new glory.

One where I may be closer to Him after winter is done.

 

Even the wall, though solid,

Has it soft spots,

As it grows, becomes stronger,

More resistant,

My weakness is tested.

So what looks like stone,

Reveals wood.

 

Lord, come to my assistance.

Behind the wondrous noise,

Sits the instrument, crafted with care by many,

Now not dormant,

But spilling notes in unison with others,

In a way which can be practiced,

But not perfected.

 

The perfection is the mixing of others,

Of those willing to hear a message,

An open mind perhaps,

But an open heart for sure,

Ready to receive.

 

And those sacred noisemakers,

Where, for the moments they rejoice together,

They ascend beyond themselves,

Into some sacred space, reserved for the gift,

A gift only exposed when heard.

 

Here then it happens. Hear and rejoice.

 

The sculptor creates the mood,

Expressionless,

Eyes focused on my every move,

Yet, not judging my activities,

Just a silent awareness,

Where a prayer for intercession can be made at any time.

 

I am in need.

 

The boundaries are everywhere,

Predefined seats, untouchable yet unwritten thrones.

Predispositions on the menu again,

Reinforced by glances, concealing the glare which lies below.

 

Others gossip seemingly unaware of the bully present,

Now beating the minds and souls of those who do not share the secret,

Shamefully, the crowd cries out in the colosseum,

Rises and lowers a thumb to encourage the execution.

 

As the poison is injected into an unknowing soul.

Again and Again.

 
Did someone call on you to serve today?

Are you normally the giver, or the receiver?

 

In these days of Advent, perhaps I can do both with gratitude.