This is my last post of the year.
Over the next few weeks, I hope to spend the moments that are typically carved out for writing, reflecting on good endings instead. I want to finish well. I eagerly anticipate the restful time of learning about that closure from my mentors.
This marks the end of my first year of writing posts.
I’m grateful for the flawed journey. It has been so many paradoxes: risky and comfortable, abstract and tangible, weighty and light.
To celebrate those paradoxes and how they’re reflected in the Christmas story, I want to share a poem by one of my respected “mentors”. She’s a woman who writes far better than I, and makes the intangible, tangible.
This poem illustrates the timeless beauty of that intangible story.
As a benediction to the holidays, this Christmas season may you find risky love born out in the tangible moments–a peaceful and contemplative Christmas to each one of you.
The Risk of Birth, Christmas, 1973
by Madeleine L’EngleThis is no time for a child to be born,
With the earth betrayed by war and hate
And a comet slashing the sky to warn
That time runs out and the sun burns late.That was no time for a child to be born
In a land in the crushing grip of Rome
Honor and truth were trampled by scorn—
Yet here did the Saviour make his home.When is the time for love to be born?
The inn is full on planet earth,
And by a comet the sky is torn –
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth.