Christmas isn't about twinkling lights
Or getting the perfect gift right.
It's not about all the great celebrations
Or about the best Christmas decorations.
It's all about Jesus and our adoration
The One who came to save all nations.
The son of God and son of man
Came to serve His fellow man.
Love incarnate, love devine
Came for us all and left heaven behind.
There's never been a gift so fine
We celebrate that at Christmas time.
Love, Amy
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Was struck with sudden inspiration for a poem
Tw gore tw SH. Certainly tw for religious trauma especially re end times.
It's a poem partly inspired by my own experiences and feelings but also just trying to get a more general message across. It can be interpreted in more than one way. I have also quoted the Bible verses I kind of allude to under the read more. I can only hope that you will find this poem solid and uplifting. I will gladly explain my thought process.
It started out as a poem solely for myself but dear @catkin-morgs-kookaburralover I think this might uplift you, or at least resonate with you in some way
The end of all things is here:
I cut my right hand off
In one clean, swift blow.
I still couldn't feel any relief,
And my phantom hand itched
And burned with hellish flames!
So I dissected the remains,
Scalpel in my left hand,
With the precision of a hawk
And the hunger of a vulture.
I found no microchips
Between my muscles,
No hidden barcodes
Behind my ligaments
And not even one six,
Much less three in a row,
Printed on the metacarpals,
Or corrupted mRNA
In my bone marrow.
I finally passed the test!
All that follows is easy:
I have awaited this fate
Since my unripe years.
The final harvest;
Martyrdom by starvation;
So I had, as a last meal,
What was left of my right hand...
I had now been gnawing on
Those same bones for years.
Frustrated, I wondered when
The Lord would finally arrive
And smile upon my deed,
Or if He even saw me at all
Hidden under the table like I was.
And when I thought I'd die,
The Lord came and looked at me,
The same fierce look that Paul saw
Two thousand years ago,
So I knelt in fear, hitting the floor
And my very bones trembled!
But His look was also
The one that Peter saw that night.
So the Lord lifted my stump,
And I saw His own scarred hands
Suddenly, the scalpel looked
Like a nail and hammer!
And I looked in horror at my hands,
Begging the Him for forgiveness.
He glued back my right hand
And flesh grew back on the bones
That dried years ago,
And its renewed skin
No longer seemed to itch.
As a parting gift, I got
My old weapons replaced
With the Sword of the Spirit.
"Not yet" I understood;
There are still battles to come.
I was still very afraid...
After all, I had never expected
To survive the end times,
Or to reach adulthood.
But I now finally knew that
Avoiding evil wasn't enough,
Neither was doing good,
Aided by the old weapons.
I finally understood that
I didn't have to mutilate myself
To fit through the narrow gate,
Neither had I protected myself
From the enemy's deception
By living as a cannibal.
I still fear the future sometimes,
And phantom pains still
Trouble my weary wrist.
But, Sword in hand,
I trust my Saviour that,
Just as there is life after death,
There is life before, too...
Thus I'll gird my loins,
Walk into battle,
And bandage those with
Mutilated hands.
______________________________
Bible references (in order of appearance):
Matthew 5:30
Revelation 13:16-18
Deuteronomy 28:56-57
1 Kings 17:4
2 Peter 3:4
Acts 9:4
John 20:27
Luke 22:49-51
Ezekiel 37:6
Ephesians 6:17
Ephesians 6:12
Colossians 2:23
John 10:10
Galatians 6:2
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Hello, Jesus. Yes
It’s me. Shampooing my hair on the
Shower floor. And hoping
the water washes
Like dirty snow and patched up drains.
Dear Lord, I stared at the fridge
And tried to care. Tried. Tried.
Jesus, my breaths
Are short and fond of disappearing.
Lord, I am sorry for all I am not
Which is much. And heavy.
And I believe
You love me still.
Jesus, I feel your love
And cringe away. Afraid
of being seen and knowing
What poor excuses choke my tongue.
And still Your hands keep reaching
Until I, so tired, my ribs silent and sore
Hold on to them.
Love you. So my heart beats. Love you and I wish I was more and I
Believe You when You say
It will be. And I will be. And we will be
Together.
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psalm for the unmartyred
blessed are you who keeps living.
blessed are you who does the damn thing.
who cares for His mother when she
can no longer see, can barely taste,
barely clinging to this damned world.
blessed are you holding two candles,
palm up, wax
dripping down the sides and
onto your feet.
your blessed feet.
“and if I want you to remain until I return,
what is that to them?”
what is it to you?
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Sometimes we outgrow a friendship
Sometimes a friendship outgrows us.
Nothing particular really happens
There's no disagreement or fuss.
Sometimes God will remove people
We must remember that and trust.
Sometimes a friendship just doesn't work
Often we just lose touch.
Sometimes a friendship is but for a season
For some unknown reason.
Again we must simply trust.
God knows what He's doing
I mean, He made us from dust.
Losing a friend can be difficult
But by no means, will we combust.
Just get back up
Knock the dust off your feet.
Get out there once again
Another friend you will soon meet.
Just don't forget what you've learned
Apply it and adjust.
And always remember
It's in God that we trust.
Love, Amy
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(By the way, I thank You for the stars)
I guess I’m not asking for miracles now
I guess when I talk to St. Therese I can do without roses
I only ask for a mundane peace
And a lack of fear
At Mass, during the Transfiguration, I pleaded
“but a thread from Thy Robe and I’d be healed”
And then I knew,
You were giving me Yourself but I couldn’t –
I stood before the Altar and wrung my hands in thought with no resolution
You know best what I need,
then give me that –
but suddenly I’m afraid
The easiest prayer is “help”
and then to drop into soothing darkness
But I jerk up my head, unable to faint at a whim
I sometimes wish we still wore corsets
I guess I’m not a saint
maybe I should trust You more
I sat on a swing today though I’m far too old for that I think
It felt like flying, if only a little
I’m still unhappy and scared
But I need to end this poem and not with the night
By the way, I thank You for the stars
(11.06.23)
edit: the context for anyone who doesn't follow me is that I have a huge problem with scrupulousity
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