It is the Eve of a New Year and, as many other bloggers are doing, I thought I would round-up my favourite posts from 2009. Some of them are favourites because they’re some of my better pieces, others merely because I like the memory or image they remind me of.

January: whimsy

February: late afternoon

March: do not ask me who God is

April: it was hard to choose since this was National Poetry Month and I wrote a poem everyday, but since April marks the end of the university school year and effectively ends my working year, I chose: part of me

May: I travelled for all of May so I’m going to cheat and post another poem from April, coincidentally about travelling: everywhere I have never travelled

June: It seems I wrote only one poem in June, or at least posted only one: In the Mount Carmel Chapel

July: Sunday morning with a starfish

August: hope

September: My dear friend Erika got married and I wrote A Marriage Blessing for her.

October: being human

November: I didn’t write poetry at all this month for many reasons, but mostly because I felt a sense of waiting and began exploring new mediums.

December: winter

Enjoy and Happy New Year!

This isn’t poetry, but I wrote this for my faith community’s Christmas Eve service and I thought I would share it here:

Christmas Eve. The familiar image comes to mind: a cozy stable, fresh straw, benevolent animals looking on, Mary and Joseph peaceful and put together, graciously welcoming the visiting shepherds. And there he is the cute little baby with a bit of a halo, wrapped up like the presents we have waiting for us under the Christmas tree. This is the highly sanitized picture so many of us see when we think of the Christmas story. What happens if we remove the centuries of photo-editing?

Imagine this instead: Mary is in labour, in fact she’s been in labour for hours already. Her body is tired and sore from the long trip to Bethlehem, every step slow and heavy and sitting on the donkey was not much better. Now, she’s exhausted, in pain and trying not to think about the fact that there is no midwife here to ease her journey through the birthing process, let alone to catch the baby. She is trying not to let the hostility of Joseph’s relatives and the dirtiness of the makeshift stable overwhelm her. She can sense Joseph’s fear, but can’t spare any energy to reassure him. As another contraction begins, she takes a deep breath and cries out with the pain.

Joseph is trying to hold back waves of anger, frustration and worry as he supports Mary in his arms. He’s trying to concentrate on her and helping in any way he can, but he feels utterly useless. He should be outside pacing, waiting for a child to be announced to him. There should be women here taking care of Mary, scolding him to get out. Is this really how God wanted his son to come into the world. In a stable that reeks of animals and half rotten feed, shunned and rejected by those who under other circumstances would have welcomed Joseph and Mary as family and would have rejoiced in her first son?

And then, Mary is gripping his arms so hard he can feel his fingers begin to tingle. “He’s coming!” She gasps and finally there is the long-awaited child. Tiny and covered in blood. We see Joseph clumsily tying the umbilical cord, cleaning Jesus with some of the ice cold water from the water trough as Jesus screams and screams. We see Joseph handing him to Mary who wraps him tightly in scraps of cloth. We see joy and wonder, but also the terrible helplessness, exhaustion and poverty of the moment. There is blood in the straw, its cold, Mary is disheveled and weak. Joseph looks like a deer caught in headlights. This is how God chose to enter the world.

Kathleen Norris writes, “ when God comes into our midst it is to upset the status quo.” The Christmas Eve story is a reminder of the slow, often painful process of new life. We wait for the healer for 400 years, we learn to accept the unorthodox and radical way in which the good news will emerge, we obey the mysterious signs that ask us to journey toward a child, and at last, at last . . . we give birth to love incarnate.

the long silence is almost at an end
the soil, tilled and left fallow
has begun to grow words
for a new soul

when you sit on a garden bench
with the Friend
hands intertwined in the evening light
no words are necessary

so we don’t talk
and then we think
that not talking
just means we’re
comfortable

so we say
“but, I’ll be fine”
and try to ignore
that it won’t be fine
at least, not for a long
time

so we close our eyes
pretend that being human
isn’t as hard
as we know
it really is

I have set my mind free
given myself permission to turn away
allowed my heart the silence it craved

I have given up a voice I thought was truth
have learned to speak a different language
careful and quick to love paradox

the path is set before me
I walk with joy, with confidence
even though I walk alone

dedicated to Ron and Erika

May you treasure the light each of you carry,
a shield against isolation and loneliness.

May you hold sacred the individuality
and independence of your loved one.

May you love and honour your differences,
celebrate and rejoice in your similarities
and invest time and effort in creating wholeness and solidarity.

May your circle of family and friends surround
you with strength, compassion, and friendship.

May you always uncover the root of difficulties
and may that root always be overcome
with the humility and forgiveness of true love.

May you discover each other again and again,
seeing with new eyes the beauty
you saw in each other in the first few days.

May your love grow, like roots,
deeper and wider with each new transition,
rooting you firmly in the earth, in each other.

May your marriage always be characterized by freedom, hope and trust.

I come home to
the “I Capture the Castle” soundtrack
cry all the tears I didn’t cry this week
in the first song
the joy and gratitude
too much for my heart

I come home to
the bits and pieces of wisdom
still making their rounds
through my head
Dr. Seuss and Julian of Norwich
both reminding me that all shall be well

I come home to
the safety of a God
who doesn’t use many words
isn’t afraid of a little darkness
a God I don’t have to perform for
will never have to prove myself to

I come home
to quiet
to solitude
to beauty

there is poetry
in the veins of leaves
there is music
in the swish of your cat’s tail
there is magic
in the smell of sweet roiboos tea

there is enough
there is wholeness
there is enough

Hey Everyone,

For the emergent minded among you, a new magazine is being launched called Generate . They are currently offering a great rate on a subscription to the first four issues. Generate is run entirely by volunteers, so this is a great way to support them in supporting the arts. You’ll find me in the inaugural issue coming out in October!

Enjoy!

Jess