Advent arrived. I had signed up for email devotionals, bought a study book and found a sheet of Christmas themed Bible verses to write out each day – the usual overdosing.
It came to me that I might want to use the advent devotionals and/or the study book and/or the Bible verses I was writing out daily to use as poetry prompts. I figured that by Christmas and up to the end of December I would have a whole pile of poems to add to the Christmas section of the new book.
Seriously? Have I had fun? Absolutely!
Some poems are book-definites, others need a bit of polishing up to hit the mark, some will never make it and one or two are rather quirky but I love them. I am four prompts behind schedule. My brain tells me it’s OK to write a bad poem to fill the space or just two lines that rhyme. Not every poem has to be brilliant. The writer in me objects strongly and insists on a good poem!
It’s the reading up that I’ve enjoyed the most. Reading up about Herod, or the star, or the magi has given me a different perspective of Christmas. I have always known stuff but it feels like I am on my own little journey, seeing aspects of the Christmas story from all the different characters involved. In trying to find their heart I have found interesting bits of my own.
Yesterday’s poem was all about Joseph. I was reading articles about the role of men at the birth and whether they had any real role to play at all. Gone are the days of walking up and down the corridor outside the maternity suite in the hospital. They are there holding their wife’s hand – but do they need to be? Apparently, yes. Bonding matters to fathers just as much as it does to mothers.
I read the things that men had written about holding the baby minutes after the birth, even before the baby is cleaned and wrapped in a blanket. They are in awe of this little life they hold who wield such power over them.
I admit to a real surge of jealousy, almost anger that I had been denied that experience. There are times when childlessness bites deep and the wound never really goes away. I felt angry that my husband never had that experience either. He would have been a great dad. Some little child would have had absolute power over him. I would have been relegated to the role of bad cop.
I thought of Joseph holding Jesus and searching his tiny face for signs of himself even though he knew he wouldn’t find any – the set of the chin or the shape of the ear. Of course, Joseph was the biological father. God chose so wisely when he chose not just Mary, but Joseph too. In his later life when Jesus talked of God as Father – it was Joseph that had taught him all he knew about fathers and Joseph had done a good job.
There may not have been any DNA of Joseph’s floating about in Jesus – but Joseph had built himself into Jesus through the words he spoke, the compassion he showed, his gentle patience as a carpenter and his love of God and His word. God himself couldn’t father Jesus in his humanity but He found someone who could.
I marvel at Your tiny form
Cradled here, so soft and warm
I breathe Your fragrance, hold You near
And tremble with an awesome fear
I cannot help but look to see
If in You there’s a trace of me
Of form and frame there’s nought we share
Yet God has placed You in my care
My boy to nurture and to grow
But You…God’s Son…I just don’t know
A task so big, I dread to fail
But God so close, I will prevail
I see the grain in lengths of wood
In You I’ll shape what’s kind and good
And then one day, I’ll glance and see
In You there’ll be that trace of me