Advent #4, Wandering King

One frequently debunked Christmas tale is the timing of the three wise men’s (or three kings) arrival. According to Matthew Chapter 2, they weren’t there on Christmas night when Jesus was born. I reflected on how this story could bring hope to people who are grieving or going through troubled times, people who haven’t been able to get into the “Christmas spirit” expected at this time of year. If the wise men didn’t arrive on Christmas but still were fulfilled by Christ’s presence in the end, then we can rest in knowing we will arrive at healing and peace in our own time, and that’s okay.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Wandering King”
 
She is one of three kings wandering through
deserts of questions. Her mount is grief, laden
down with bags full of dried up prayers. Her gift
is the myrrh of burial.
Despite the miles she’s gone, she will miss
that big moment, miss
the joy and wonder and light on that night
of songs and miracles.
Advent and journey is all to her.
The road teaches her not to arrive
on time, but to arrive. She is one
of three kings, and her time is not the birth,
but afterward, in the growth to follow.
 
 
Creative Commons License
Wandering King by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Advertisements

Advent #3, Cradle Me

A poem to remind us to not only welcome the gift of grace and love we celebrate in Jesus’s birth, but also to keep celebrating it and taking strength from it year-round.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Cradle me”
 
cradle me
new and hopeful I come
fragile and willing I come
cradle me
 
embrace me
tiny and loving I come
brave and graceful I come
embrace me
 
carry me
however old I become
however old you become
carry me
 
 
Creative Commons License
Cradle Me by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Advent #2, Winter Whispers

Holidays do not always bring comfort and joy, especially when the past year has held a loss in the family. To those who feel that pain this year, I pray peace for you and that you will be surrounded in love.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Winter Whispers”
 
Winter blows in without sound.
Color has dropped into a brown carpet
on the wet roads as we gather, one less,
around meals and traditions and decorations.
Your voice was so much a part
of them that without it I’ve been tossed
into a black and white film where I
read the script on a title card. Tell me
what to say now that I am the voice
to fill mealtimes and give directions.
 
Snowfall buries the world with gray and quiet.
Staring out dark windows I take the time to
remember. Faint but true, you speak into
the moments I feared would stay empty and
raw. Snowfall brushes glass with white,
catches Christmas tree lights, whirls into prisms.
Perhaps in echoes and memory God
brings us closer to the great beyond
you crossed ahead of me.
 
 
Creative Commons License
Winter Whispers by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.