Hi everyone,
This is a poem for after Christmas, when the holiday is suddenly over, everyone is exhausted, but there is always more to do ahead. I’m sure Mary and Joseph felt just as tired after their eventful day: a difficult travel into town, no comfortable place to sleep, Mary giving birth to Jesus in a stable, shepherds appearing and talking about angels and wanting to visit the new king… I find that the verse that follows the busy events of the first Christmas very important to remember: Luke 2:19 (NIV) says, “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” This verse about reflection inspired my poem. We, too, can pause and reflect to help us get ready for whatever comes next.
God bless!
Inspired by Luke 2:19

the babe is sleeping,
the shepherds have left,
the animals are silent,
the stable is still.

in these few hours when quiet comes
Mary stays awake, too tired for rest.
each busy moment settles into memory,
and each memory she ponders,
each memory, she treasures.

the season is over,
the presents given,
the children are sleeping,
the house is still.

in these few hours when quiet comes,
when you are too tired for rest:
ponder. remember. pray.

the Prince of Peace waits in the silence
to speak to you,
to center you once again,
strengthen you in your weariness.
He knows what these days are like
for you. He lived them, too.
like His mother, He knew to take time
to ponder and pray,
no matter the events
behind or ahead.

Ahead is a new year.
the uncertainty is waiting,
anticipation growing,
questions stirring.

Mary, too, faced new days
of questions.
that night in the stable
she closed her eyes and
pondered. prepared
to face new days of questions
as a woman rooted in faith.

Morning breaks.
The pondering silence is gone,
the busyness comes,
and the faith holds on, deep
like an anchor in the quiet
below the waves.
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Pondering by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.


Angel, Angel

Hi everyone,
This is a new poem written about the first Christmas in Israel. It is told from a shepherd’s perspective and is the story of how he hears the Good News and is changed by his encounter with the newborn Christ. It is based on Luke 2:8-20.
God bless, and Merry Christmas!
“Angel, Angel”

Angel, angel what do you see
coming out of the clouds and looking at me?
Do you see just a shepherd boy tending his flock,
wide-eyed with wonder, tongue-tied with shock?

Shepherd, shepherd, what can I see
soaring so high above earth and sea?
I can see someone to tell my Good News
that salvation has come in the King of the Jews.

Angel, angel, I want to see
this Savior who’s come to set us all free.
Tell me what should I look for, what should I know?
Where is He now – where should I go?

Shepherd, shepherd, He waits for you now
curled up in a manger, near goat, sheep, and cow.
He is now but a child, but He is ever a King:
the Lord of the Hosts, who rules everything.
Go find Him in Bethlehem, go see what God’s done:
giving His all by sending His Son.

Shepherds, Shepherds, let’s go and see
all that the angel has told you and me.
And as we come near, my friends, can you tell?
It’s He who was promised this precious Noel.

Jesus, Jesus, what do you see
peeking out of the manger and looking at me?
Can You see all my fears, my hopes, and my dreams
on this night of all nights where naught’s as it seems?
For I feel like You know me all through and through,
that with just one look You’ve made me anew.

Jesus, Jesus, I know I must leave
to spread this Good News so all might believe.
For tonight I’ve seen angels, seen wonder, seen You,
and strange as it all seems, I know it is true.

So stranger, stranger, listen to me:
the Good Lord has come to set us all free.
I heard it from angels, then saw with my eyes
the King of all glory, the earth and the skies.
You’d never suspect Him, so tiny and new
but He’s the Healer of Hearts and dearly loves you.
He’s waiting to meet you, just like He met me
He’s right there before you—look and you’ll see.
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Angel, Angel by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.


Hi everyone,
I’ve shared this poem before; I share it again in light of the heartbreaking events in Connecticut today. Our prayers are with you all.
God bless,


Sea-sickened on your storm-tossed sea,
      you’re trapped on a 
  pitching ship
        crushed by thunder and the hail of life.
No one’s there but 
   on your tear-slickened deck.
The lighthouse winked out in the blackness
        and every prayer and cry is 
    silent as a dead whistle.
Helpless, you see the waves, 
    fear you’ll be ripped
                                              out to sea.
In your lonely hurricane hours you ask
        Where is God?
He’s not brightening the lighthouse 
        to guide you home, 
   and you don’t see these waves parting 
      or Someone walking on water
   to save you.

In times like these, look deeper, 
      for God is your anchor.
Though unseen beneath the crashing waves,
        He’ll never budge.
           He’ll hold you fast
                                       and strong. 

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Anchor by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

The Little Candles

Hi everyone,

This poem is for those grieving during this Christmas season. Pain and loss cause darkness in our lives. They make it hard to get through cheerful holidays or even face an ordinary day. Christmas, though, is a promise of a new day—and a new life in the newborn Christ. Our loved ones are promised this life, and so are we. Some days the hope and healing He offers us may feel like they are coming slowly, but like rays of sunlight coming one by one over the horizon, they will bring a new dawn and better days.

God bless!

“The Little Candles”
For the grieving this Christmas season, for peace deep inside them

All the lights just went out.
You could still hear everyone breathing or
coughing here and there, like bursts of static
on a silent radio station.
I sat still, imagining the darkness was nothing more
than a chilly blanket wrapped around the congregation
in the sanctuary that Christmas Eve.
But after a long moment, the darkness got colder,
the sounds grew distant, and my mind made
the black air empty and eternal.
It reminded me of the first night I went to bed
knowing I couldn’t wake up and call you anymore
when I wanted to talk,
the first night I knew I couldn’t run to you
when I needed you,
the first night I knew you wouldn’t be there
for the next Christmas, the next New Year,
the next day.

In the front of the sanctuary the pastor lit
the Christ Candle.
The little flame jumped awake in the nest of wax,
turning the cold white candle a buttery yellow.
The pastor held it up, and we began to sing Silent Night.
We each held our own little unlit candles, waiting for the light
to be passed to each of us, a symbol of Christ’s hope spreading
among us.
I sat perfectly still, watching. I felt that I’d been waiting a long time
for this light.

When the flame reached me, I lit my candlewick
from my neighbor’s and passed on the flame.
My tiny fire danced in my shaking sigh
as I cradled the candle in my frigid fingers.
I wished you were here, whispered that wish quietly
and swallowed the growing impulse
to cry.

The song rose, and we lifted our voices and our candles.
Holding up that little flame, I pictured you in it:
fresh and bright and warm again.
The darkness faded in all the candlelight
and I imagined each flame was a person we’d lost
now shining and whole again, a reminder in the darkness
that dawn comes one ray at a time.

When the sun rises tomorrow on Christmas
I’ll see you winking from the clouds:
a bright soul lighting up the heavens
and living out a promise of eternity.
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The Little Candles by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Tiny One

Hi everyone!

This is a new poem for Advent. It is about Jesus new to our world, with so much ahead of Him as He grows into the man who will save us from our sin. I can picture His mother, Mary, looking at her firstborn and wondering about all that’s in store for Him.

God bless!

“Tiny One”
tiny hand in the straw
here to answer God’s call,
to reach and to hold
with a Love bright and bold.

tiny feet in the cold
here to walk a long road
to carry the Word
so that it might be heard.

tiny eyes in the light,
small, new, and bright
shining so bravely
for this world He’ll be saving.

tiny lungs breathe Earth’s air
and small ears hear a prayer
as Mary welcomes her son:
Now Your journey’s begun…

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Tiny One by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.