He Came to Us

He came to:

an elderly couple–a hesitant priest and his barren wife.

an innocent teenager and her gracious fiancé.

Christmas is About Love

I’m hours away from getting on a plane to visit my mother. She lives 10 hours from me in the next province over. She has dementia and it’s been worsening of late. For a couple of years now, she’s been slipping, repeating herself, forgetting important things like her health history or that she wears glasses and hearing aids. She’s still an avid talker, but her conversations now revolve around her big tv and the man friend that drops in to watch football. Sometimes when I’m with her and I’m bored and a little mischievous and too tired to redirect her, I’ll bring up the big TV myself. One of her oft repeated phrases is, “At least I still have my mind”, something that makes us smile every time she says it.

A Note from the Writer

Hello friends,

I’m writing this little note regarding my last post, “Where’s the Peace”. I failed to label that list of Christmas Complaints as fiction and didn’t rectify the situation soon enough. I had some people thinking I was having a Christmas meltdown. That list was my creative way of illustrating some of the stressors people face in our culture at Christmastime. As for me, I’m a little too laid back and a little too work shy, which is a nice way of saying lazy, to do all of that. My apologies to anyone who thought I needed prayer or a psych assessment. 😀 I’ll try to communicate more effectively from now on. 

Polly 🙂

I thought I’d share a few pics of creative Christmasy window dressings. I do love the glitz and glam!

Where’s the Peace?

A Fictitious Listicle of Christmas Complaints

The biting cold, the howling wind, the slippery roads, the snow piling up, and the enveloping darkness, make me want to roll up in a blanket with a jumbo bag of Munchie Mix and not poke my head out till spring.

I wiped out in a heap on the driveway yesterday and was pretty sure I looked like a beached whale and, if I didn’t manage to get up promptly enough, that someone was coming to helicopter me out to the Arctic and lob me onto a precariously thin patch of ice and set me adrift still lying there, essentially gift-wrapped walrus bait.

My neighbor’s house looks like a reindeer binged on 10 ugly Christmas sweaters and then proceeded to projectile vomit. You’d think looking at it would banish my Seasonal Affective Disorder forever, but I still feel like I need to go inside, dim the lights, and take an Ativan. I’ve started averting my eyes even in the daytime. 

My 30-year-old, Zellers Christmas special, fake Christmas tree is now starting to look like a 30-year-old, Zellers Christmas special, fake Christmas tree. Even Charlie Brown and the gang couldn’t sing this pathetic, scraggly mess of glue and plastic back to life.

My attempt at making a cheery platter of whimsical holiday treats ended with me crying, dusted with flour and eating cookie batter out of the bowl, while tearfully admitting that I don’t have the dexterity to use a rolling pin, cookie cutter, or piping bag or the stamina to make six dozen cookies in one day.

The lines were so long at the mall and the people so grouchy, I started to blame them for everything that’s wrong with my life.

If I have to listen to Frosty the Snowman one more time, I might have to rent a snow blower and take out all the snowmen in my neighborhood, handknit scarves, carrots, and all.

I couldn’t find the wildly popular, obscenely overpriced, Christmas gifts my loved ones wanted, so there’ll be dampened sadness around the tree this year instead of joy.

I can’t afford this but I’m doing it anyway and I’m not sure why.

I got the ugliest ornament in the gift exchange at work. It’ll make a fine addition to my growing collection of ugly ornaments from Christmases past.

Too much cheese log equals one large cheese plug. 😛

With all these Christmas parties, my bowl-full-of-jelly belly is starting to overflow my pants by a couple of large dollops.

The turkey is dry, the gravy is lumpy, the Jello didn’t set, the guests are arriving, and I feel like a smelly, wrung out dish rag who just had her hand up a big bird’s butt.

The Cry of Christmas

Christmas

For those of us who celebrate the Christ

A Christmas Blessing

Like the common shepherds, may we accept, with joy, the message that God loves us in an uncommon, spectacular way, NOW, as we are, enough to send his beloved Son to redeem us, and may the spreading of this word be our highest priority.

Like the tenacious wise men, may are heads not be turned by kings or the glittery things of this world, but may we seek God with all our might and worship him with the gift of ourselves.

Like the doubtful Zechariah, may our faith be strengthened and our tongues loosened to praise God’s steadfastness every day.

Like the joyful Elizabeth, may the truth that God has delivered us from disgrace be ever on our lips.

Like the humble Mary, may we gently, eagerly accept God’s will for us, may we dare to believe with Him all things are possible, and may we ponder and treasure His word in our hearts.

Like the indomitable Joseph, may we have the courage to be obedient to God even when it’s hard and may we face the travails of this life trusting, abiding in, and following Him.

Like the good donkey who carried a pregnant mother over many dusty miles, may we draw from the well of God’s strength to help bear the burdens of the suffering and the downtrodden.

Like the luminous star, may we reflect God’s glory wherever we are and may that reflection mark the narrow road for those who have eyes to see.

Like the bright angels ore the fields, may we be bearers of the good news of Christ, people of joy and peace, bringing love, light and hope to a cold, dark, weary world.

May it be so! Merry Christmas, friends!

Posts come out when I feel like it. 😀 Scroll down to the bottom of the page to follow me or sign up to receive my posts via email. Take a peek at my Redbubble store. Pollyeloquent.redbubble.com. Thank you for giving me some of your precious time!

A Question for the Christ

Jesus

What was it like

To leave the comforts of your heavenly home

The perfect love and fellowship of Father, Son, and Spirit

To put aside the unrestrained majesty and power

To dress your purity in flesh and stench

And take on helplessness and need

Did the angel’s celebration in the skies

Cause your little eyes to flutter

Suckling at your mother’s breast

Or nestled in the snuggly strips of cloth

Securely planted in the scratchy hay

Did the grunting and the snuffling of animals keep you awake

Did your parents get a wink of sleep

Or did dear Mary hover over you

In awe and yawning

Did the shepherds rest their dirty fingers

On your sweet smelling brow

How did Mary take this

Did she smile or flinch

Did Joseph chastise them to give you space

Because they clambered in, a noisy band they were

Breathless and excited

Did the glow of that fair star, the beacon bringing wise men, graze your skin

Lighting on you as you looked on wide-eyed

At those distinguished gentlemen who turned up at your door

Did their gifts at all enthrall you

Did their veneration turn your head

When they bowed before you

Did you understand they’d traveled from afar

A journey long and hard

Just to adore you

My brain cannot contain this strange idea

That God became a man, much less a babe

And when I ponder further

The reason that you graced this place

I’m floored

At your great sacrifice

Jesus

What was it like

I wonder

And I worship

 

Posts come out when I feel like it. 😀 If you’re interested in reading other Christmasy posts I’ve written, scroll down to the bottom of the page and put the word Christmas in the “Look for Somethin'” search bar. You’ll find a couple that way, but scroll down to the older posts button from there and click on that and a few more will come up. You may also follow me there or sign up to receive my posts via email. Take a peek at my Redbubble store. Pollyeloquent.redbubble.com. Thank you for giving me some of your precious time!

A White Christmas?

I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas

Just like the ones I’ve rarely known

Where the trees are bare

And children stare

And cry because there isn’t any snow

I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas

With every trip I take outside

May your days feel more like July

And may all your Christmases be dry

Snow. I’m not a fan. Sure, it’s very pretty at times, even dreamy, when it’s wafting down slowly in flakes the size of feathers, forming a crystalline blanket of softness on surfaces. It shushes things. Traffic lessens, as a slippery sheen is laid down. People stay inside. They cocoon, wrapping themselves in wooly sweaters and self-administering hot liquids. They’re content to look at the snow like one looks at fish in a fish tank. It’s rather mesmerizing to watch the world fade to white and familiar forms, like vehicles, obscure to fluffy mounds. Unfortunately, snow’s beauty is fleeting. Try travelling in the open country in a blizzard where you can’t see 2 feet in front of your vehicle and, I guarantee, you won’t be so enamored with it. For a day, fresh and pure, it’s enchanting, but, as the winter drags on, driven snow clumped with salt, sand, and gravel is ugly, especially when the sticky stuff sticks around for months. Soon enough, most people can hardly stand the sight of it.

Hark

For my Dad, Ron Mayforth, the one who led me to the light.

Every year for the last four years, our church has had the opportunity to share a Live Nativity Production with the people of our city at a local Christmas Craft fair. Along with a couple of goats, volunteers are gathered from every age group. We usually have a real baby Jesus, a gaggle of kids playing either scruffy shepherds or cherubic angels, young adults to flesh out the roles of Joseph and Mary, and seniors of both sexes to play the Wise Men. This year, as I participated, I was struck once again by the story that marks the coming of God to us. So often, the lowliness of his birth is emphasized, the fact that he came as a helpless baby to an unknown, unwed teenager and her tradesman fiancée from a little town of little regard. There were no premium cotton sheets waiting, not even a proper crib or, for that matter, a sanitary, comfortable place for Mary to give birth. She hunkered down and grunted in the hay, not unlike the farm animals surrounding her. Hardly the dignified procession with the requisite pomp and splendor befitting the King of kings, but, if we look elsewhere, his arrival wasn’t completely without fanfare.

Knock Knock

Oh, hello.

How nice of you to drop by.

I wasn’t expecting you.

I hear the sound of a baby’s cry

And the bleating of stable animals.

Something smells.

But, no matter.

Come on in.

I’m sorry, I’ve nothing prepared.

Life is busy. You know how it is.

Can we get personal?

You don’t mind, do you?

Cuz, I’m a bit surprised.

Was this your plan

With all your power

To enter in this mess

Helpless and completely at our mercy?

Yes, it was?

How interesting!

Was this your plan

To form a band of rag tag nobodies

Confer on them a mission and an other-wordly kingdom

Placing all possibility of success squarely on their wobbly shoulders?

Let me guess, the answer, yet again, is yes?

How curious!

Was this your plan to end up nailed, spiked through hands and feet, to weathered stakes of wood

In front of all of those you healed who thought you were the one to free them?

You have my rapt attention.

To breathe your last and pass from heaven into hell

And, then, to rise again, ascend to sit at God’s right hand,

To make your home with us where you will reign forevermore?

What’s this?

A resounding affirmation

Oh, yes, there’s no mistake, no lapse in judgement, but celestial wisdom.

Oh, I didn’t know, I didn’t see, I didn’t understand.

The tears they blind my eyes.

You came to live with us, with me!

I bow my head.

I get down humbly on one knee

And offer up my heart, my life.

It’s all I have to give.

You lift me up and hold me for a time.

Then we let go, but still I feel aglow.

I’ll show you to your room.

 

Feature image graciously provided by Άννα Καράκοντη (@anna_karakonti) on Instagram.

Merry Christmas to you and yours! Thank you for reading my blog! You give me the gift of your time and attention every time you do and I’m so grateful. Enjoy your holiday!

Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram @pollyeloquent. 🙂