Headpiece Filled with Straw

22)Michelle H: Advent.

2012-01-08T22:18:00.000-08:00

With her trembling right palm, she unconsciously caresses her swollen belly, her left wrist lightly guiding the steering wheel. I had not noticed the protrusion of her abdomen before , a curved pressure against the waffle weave of her polo shirt, a roundness incongruent with her slight and sure translucent wrists.

"Does it hurt?" I asked her. Yes, there's some pressure. "How long?" Just a week or two since the pain. I overheard her telling my father wryly that it was like when she was 7 months pregnant.

Advent is supposed to be a time of waiting. We don't wait much at all these days. There are Cesarean sections and instant watch movies and smart phones; we don't wait for our bread to rise or for the year of jubilee. We only wait when we're bored. Or desperate.

The dye she swallowed confirmed a "suspicious mass", 13 cm by 8 cm in the abdominal cavity. But we didn't have any insurance, so nobody had any room in the in-patient ward for her. It took doctors breaking deals and nurses plying their power just to get the tests at a cost we could pay up-front. Mountains of paperwork, miles of phone calls, exorbitant prices. Waiting. The words 'ovarian cancer' had been spoken but it would take another four weeks before the tumor (which we didn't call it aloud) could be cut out. I tried not to imagine it pumping out cancerous cells like some burst oil main. Four weeks is a long time.

But we waited. Stuck between jobs, I was home with nothing to do but pray for the paperwork to go through and take over my mother's chores. September in Los Angeles is as listless as summer, full of 90-degree afternoons and browning grass. In my silent neighborhood, I'd squint into the glaring sun and hose the rabbit crap off the steel cage, letting it drip dry against the brick wall. I tried to revive the fragile, crisping plants, mostly dead save the tomato vine. Every day there seemed to be ten more miniature, yellow tomatoes, falling into my hands.

Mom would lie in the cool shade of her room, the one place in the house with a working air conditioner. She stacked and re-stacked pillows to cushion her sides, her hands protectively curled around her bulging stomach--attempting to sleep against the enormous pressure in her core. A perversion of pregnancy--the aches and the pain--the organs re-arranging to protect a death-dealing lump near her womb. The people I spoke to would say many women already have had their hysterectomies by now; it's common to have complications. We try to keep motherhood picturesque--the pale virgin clasping the rosy-child,
but the mechanics are messy, often fatal. This made me inexplicably angry. The beginning of life turned into a ticking bomb.

"I never thought that I would actually say I was looking forward to a surgery," she said with rye humor, "but I am, at this point." Sometimes, we would go a whole day waiting for the doctor's office to call back; we often went to sleep disappointed. Through all this waiting there was still, I think, the slightest hope the mass
might prove to be benign, some strange fiber for the book of records. Thank God, we would have said. The surgeon would have smiled gently, shook our hands and sent us home.

My 23rd birthday was spent propped between two chairs in a silent ICU. Silent, except for the beeping of machines, the steady hiss of my mother's respirator and the trickle of dripping IVs and catheters. I normally spend the night before my birthday in some sort of crisis anyway, wondering over the worthiness of my existence so I was glad for something to focus on - in this case, my mother's breath, my mother's life which swallowed up any unworthiness in my own. The gatekeeper, Fernando, made a point of asking my name and with his thick Filipinno accent insisted "You take" as he offered me juice boxes, graham crackers, cups of tea, blankets. A strange set of birthday gifts.

It's hard to explain what exactly I was waiting for. They had told my family we didn't need to be there, but we took shifts nevertheless, We weren't expecting the surgery to have taken a slice of her diaphragm and the consequent sedation and tubes and indignity.We weren't expecting a lot of things.

I don't know how to expect goodness; I think I may have learned how to wait for relief. But to wait actively with hope for health, for life to return to something better than the status quo is beyond me. I have been waiting for relief from one thing or another for as long as I can remember: the pressures of high school, the rigors of college, the pang caused by a broken home, the uncertainty of post-graduate life. With my mother, first we waited for confirmation of the tests, then too long for the surgery. Then hours for the final verdict, where the tumor had been and what it was. Then, after they scooped out her insides we waited for her breaths to be her own, for the ventilator to be removed, for awareness to return. For speech. Then a room in the cancer ward. Then for chemo. One by one we waited for the tubes to be removed, for home and then for hair loss.

It seems the best I can hope for is the next batch of relief from pain, the next wave of fresh air after a long hospital shift. I dare not even hope for healing. It is hard for me to look forward to a Messiah. For beauty. For redemption. For thicker hair growing in. Frankly, I'm afraid to ask for it. Afraid of prayers answered only by beeping heart monitors.

Advent is the time we remember waiting for Christ's first arrival, His incarnation. But "adventus" is also the Latin translation of the Greek "paraousia" - the word in the New Testament for the Second Coming of Christ. Early advent celebrations did not involve chocolate count-down calendars, but fasting and repentance. It mirrored Lent in symbolic preparation for the fiery appearance of Christ the Judge, who when he returns to earth will not come as an infant meek and lowly. This is easier for me to imagine right now.
I am not expecting redemption--I'm tensed for judgement, for the day and hour that no one knows, looking forward to the next diagnosis, pronouncement, statistic. Fifty percent in one year, seventy percent in three years. All of these numbers and falling stars and mysterious scrolls in the near and distant future. I pray for specifics, hoping I will be able to see the light, the clear, palpable hope, something tangible, something palpable, asking for an appointment or timeline when God will explain things or make them right.. How long?

David never took these things lying down. For a man after God's own heart, he seems surprisingly impatient. He rants and raves, pushes God's time deficiencies squarely back in His face. "How long," he always asks, "how long." And he's not texting tactfully what time the surgery will be done, avoiding the question of what the results might be. He wants earth-shattering restoration, shalom that will raise the dead and restore the exiled, and David wants it now. At least at the beginning of his poems.

He never gets his questions answered. At least, not from a voice in the sky providing a schedule, which I think is what we all want from prayer. But David does answer his own questions, in a round-a-bout way. He wanders away from the whens and almost always ends with Who.

Psalm 131 How long, O LORD? Will You forget me forever? How long
will You hide Your face from me? 2 How long shall I take counsel in
my soul, Having sorrow in my heart all the day? How long will my
enemy be exalted over me? 3 Consider and answer me, O LORD my God;
Enlighten my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death, 4 And my
enemy will say, "I have overcome him," And my adversaries will
rejoice when I am shaken. 5 But I have trusted in Your
lovingkindness; My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation. 6 I will
sing to the LORD, Because He has dealt bountifully with me.

No timeor reassurance given, but a strange proclamation of trust surfacing
from the turmoil.

And then in David's most over-quoted and under-appreciated Psalm 23, he says something that stops me flat. Not the Valley of the Shadow of Death--that needs very little reflection to have resonance. But "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me."

Follow? I asked a very smart man with all sorts of degrees if it could really mean a literal following--behind one's back, coming after. He said it's the same verb that is used of David's enemies--relentless pursuit.

And I thought maybe that's why I can't hope for goodness, or even see it, sometimes. It's behind me. All the days of our lives. Invisible as the tree in your backyard, your first laugh, your mother's care. It's the foundation, the past pursuing, the good, sweet soil we walk upon. The apex of history, the kindness of God--the incarnation and the crucifixion and the resurrection--the intention of mercy--all behind us, at the foundations of the world. Pursuing us through every dark valley, dogging our steps. The rearguard in every battle.

When I look back at that first four weeks of awful waiting, I think of those damn tomatoes, popping up like manna. If we had no money for anything else, it seems we could live on those cheeky yellow bulbs. I think also of Fernando, the kindly gatekeeper of the I.C.U. I think of the generosity of our friends and the people my mother has touched that is still following us: grocery store gift cards, pet food, meals. We're still living on the goodness of others and may have to for some time.

I wonder if this is what the Second Coming will be like. Not an emphasis on our failures, but a revealing, an unveiling of the good God who followed us all our lives. We may still be sick when he comes, but we will see everywhere his tender care, his help towards health. The exposure of our lack coupled with the incredible display of provision--the dramatic irony revealed in a burst of celebration. And I wonder if perhaps this is why we wait for the coming of Christ. When he comes, we will see that he has been behind
us all along, sewing history with seeds of beauty, opening the windows of our petty lives and making room for light.

So we wait for the coming of Christ - for he has come and he will come again and he is here now. We trust the Who more than we hate the when. We know that here and now it is "Keep waiting--I'll be right on time" that Christ speaks to us. Come, thou-long expected Jesus. Thou art here.

Michelle H. is a writer, a distinguished graduate of Westmont College and works as an English Teacher in Colorado.

21)Gintare Varankeviciute: Mulling Over 2.0.1.1

2011-12-29T18:54:00.000-08:00

I started this year on the roof-top of a building that i called home; wearing shoes that definitely did not work well with the multitude of snow (wet and cold) and a bunch of people-family-friends-whom I miss dearly (thank you...). what a grand day it was! we had an inside picnic, great food, tons of laughter and giggles and more of 'happenings' that can only be put under the category named "good for the heart and soul". what a start! a little bit on the wet side, but packed with goodness!

crazy tree in the background =P

I took a GRE test. And I went a tiny bit crazy; plus, I invited a couple of my friends into the lovely craziness =P thank you guys for your love and patience =) I survived the test.

I wrote a 30 and a few more pages final Capstone project for my Bachelors degree in Teaching English as an International Language. I had a blast!

I got a response from my dream university - Notredame - thank you...but no thank you and try again. Jesus...

'My ducks were scattered'

I sold my car - just enough money to get me across the big pond to the United States of America where I would join YWAM Cornerstone as staff. Packed a suitcase that fell apart - thankfully - not at the airport. Repacked and left.

bread-ginger-house

Had some hiccups on the way, but there is always enough water...'Living water' for any amount of hiccups.

Went across the United States- west to east - flying, busing and some more flying. Left behind my second falling apart suitcase and my pajama pants. Haha.

Finally reached the Big Apple - New York. I love my Korean family. I have the best roommate ever! I cannot get enough of rice and kimchi and found my most favorite spot in New York - Tompkins Square Park in East Village. The Subway system is like my second home - exaggeration. Home. Jesus...

haha =)

My dear friend, Zane shared a quote the other day "It is God to whom and with whom we travel, and while He is at the end of our journey, He is also at every stopping place." Elisabeth Elliot

Immanuel - God IS with us - the name given to Christ as the Deliverer of Judah prophesied by Isaiah. And Joseph named Him Jesus 'God Saves' and is now dwelling in and amongst us...Immanuel in Lithuania. Immanuel in Latvia, Liepaja. Immanuel in Beacon. Immanuel in California. Immanuel in the airport. Immanuel on the bus ride. Immanuel in Haiti. Immanuel in Pune, India. Immanuel in Iowa. Immanuel in Amsterdam. Immanuel in Flushing. Immanuel...Immanuel...Immanuel

Immanuel in the coming year of 2012

Gintare Varankeviciute is a Lithuanian YWAM missionary in NYC.

20)DearOliveJuice: Flume

2011-12-28T14:29:00.000-08:00

Josiah's one of my favorite musician friends (no offense to the rest of you), he just put together this video recently, but had a lot of trouble cuz his computer was down. Anyways, enjoy the song, and if you didn't see it last year, you should also check out his christmas thoughts here: Those Who Mourn. :)

Josiah Hejny, aka DearOliveJuice, is an Indie Musician based near Grass Valley, CA, and also a worship leader in Reno, NV.

19)Greta and Tadas on Piano!

2011-12-25T23:03:00.000-08:00

Greta and Tadas are a sibling duo from Mažeikiai, Lithuania.

18)Kate M.: Photography

2011-12-25T23:02:00.000-08:00

1)Christmas?

2)Waking up to first snow

3)Awaiting

4)Talinn, Estonia

5)'The true light, which enlightens everyone,was coming into the world.

6)Riga, Latvija (2010)

7)Talinn, Estonia

8)Celebrations- 'Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased'

9)'In him was life, and the life was the light of men.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it'

10)stillness

11)Ice

12)'Fear not-for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all the people...'

13)Giruliai, Lithuania

14)Riga, LV (2010)

15)Trier, Deutschland

16)An Italian Christmas

17)Riga, LV (2010)

18)'and behold, the star that they had seen when it rose went

before them until it came to rest over the place where the child was...'

19)Germany (2011)

20)Riga, LV (2010)

21)'...For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,

that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life...'

My sister's got the skills. And the advantage of living in Europe. :)

17)Jennifer Amnott: Tinsel and Lights

2011-12-22T00:09:00.000-08:00

Jennifer Amnott is a nurse from Pensacola, Florida, and Texas.

16)Adam Sams and Jeremy Ezell: Christmas EP!!!

2011-12-20T22:51:00.000-08:00

This is one of the more exciting projects I've been able to highlight so far!!! CLICK THE LINK, enjoy the tunes, and consider giving a couple bucks to support Nightlight. (and because bandcamp only gives you so many free downloads as an artist)

http://adamsams.bandcamp.com/album/hope-and-expectation

Adam Sams is a Georgia-based music student who totally rocks.

15)Jonathan Kusnerek: Light Series

2011-12-17T22:17:00.000-08:00

Light Series

This series of pieces were inspired by the first chapter of John in the Bible. This chapter speaks of the incarnation of Jesus as the Light of the World. I wanted to explore the interaction of darkness and light through this series in a raw, abstract form to limit the distractions of naturalistic imagery. I feel that this was fitting for portraying “God with us”.

This time of year all the gaudy, flashy pomp is everywhere, and it can be really distracting from what Christmas is supposed to be about. When we take the Christmas story and boil it down to its simplest form, it is light coming into darkness. Light came into the world to save the world; Jesus came to save us.

Please click on the pieces to view them full-size.

I. The Light Shineth in the Darkness

II. The darkness comprehendeth not.

III. Light made flesh and dwelt among us

IV. For we were lost in darkness

V. The Light came to save us

Jonathan Kusnerek is an art student at Pensacola State College, headed for Chicago this next year. He is a talented musician and artist, a loyal and thoughtful friend.

14)Lisa Metzler: In the Pain

2011-12-16T22:55:00.000-08:00

While emotions run strong at Christmastime, our love and thankfulness run deeper. But so does our grief, should the season find us in a place of pain or suffering.

With the recent loss of my son, Josh, little things like putting up stockings become huge. What do I do with my son's stocking? I can't let go of it, yet it hurts too much to see it hanging by the hearth with the others. Each Christmas tree ornament and all of his childhood Christmas craft projects bring the same conflicts.

I find I am plumbing my personal depths in search of God's healing. I am dealing with things I never knew were issues before. I am going as deep as I can within myself and crying out from the depths for God's Holy Spirit to bring healing and hope. For those of us who find ourselves in this place during this holiday season, I've found that it's only as we invite Jesus to heal us that He will come. He will never force Himself on us, even though He knows how much we need the comfort and healing He has to offer.

I seems He's trying to teach me to endure pain gracefully. The only way to learn that is to allow myself to walk in the pain. In times past, I would have kept myself busy so that my feelings would not have been able to hit me so deeply. That doesn't work anymore. If I am to be a real help to others, I cannot hide my pain from myself.

In all of this I find that I have a greater interest in heaven. I long to know what Josh is doing; is he celebrating Christmas? There is a lot of conjecture about heaven, yet I don't find much of what is said substantiated in scripture. One thing seems clear: God is the central focus of heaven. When I realize this and think about the fact that I will be face to face with the God of the universe, Christmas trees and cookies do not seem so important. It helps me maintain perspective.

I know that Josh had a personal relationship with Jesus and that Josh is in Jesus' presence now. I also know that when Jesus appears Josh will appear with Him in glory. Colossians 3:3-4 assures me that because I am in Christ, when Josh appears with Jesus, I will as well. Although for now I am intensely aware of the hole in my heart, I have hope. I encourage all who are hurting this Christmas season to set your eyes on Jesus and everything He has promised. Set your focus firmly on Him, and nothing can take you out of His keeping. He has come down to us, He is coming, and He will surely come.

With Love in Jesus,

Lisa

Lisa Metzler is a mom, mentor, volunteer, and a servant of God and others based in Fallbrook, CA.

Lucky 13)James Metelak: Keep the Christ

2011-12-15T23:00:00.000-08:00

Keep the Christ

In Christmas, defend your right
to brashly bray
Your bumper-sticker beliefs.
Keep the baby in the manger.
Keep everything haloed, saran-wrapped, and safe.
Put on a brief bravado flag-wave of witness
Prove to others you're pious.

Really?

Keep the Christ
Out of your culture wars,
He doesn't care.
It's inane and tragic
that we've lost connection, listening,
understanding, to the point
We argue over whether we can speak our minds.
I say Merry Christmas,
if my friend misunderstands, I will apologize;
We will share a simple grace.
Other days, although Christ is just as imminent
I'll just say "have a good day."

Keep the Christ confined to
Christmas,
Keep the bastard "sell your stuff" "love your neighbors"
Jewish rabbi trashing display tables,
Far away from the bulletin board pageant festivals.
He'll probably complain about the music,
Ask uncomfortable questions,
And peep his little bald head into the middle of our horseshit,
Tell us to repent.

My heart aches for the homeless, the lonely,
the hopeless, the fatherless who, once caroled heavily,
Never see us again. But keep singing.

Presents, lights, carols, fire,
Wrappings, trappings, cookies, wires,
Readings, singing, giving, praying,
Sharing, family, hugs, and feasts,
Hospitality, despite our gluttonies,
I think we need more of all these things.
So don't let anyone dissuade you from taking part
If you're not feeling this Jesus thing.
Engage.

For me, I try
To believe, I try
To keep room in the inn, make the bed, stay up, stoke the coals,
Today, the day
Of His coming,
Of the wrecking,
My re-crucifixion,
My love's coming back,
The day God comes down
And we wait, we hope; we are terrified he might
Meet us, or ask us why we
Haven't changed, stuck in the garden,
Hiding behind hymnbooks and clichés.

12)Kerstin Danielle: December Photography

2011-12-14T23:59:00.000-08:00

1winter- morning frost

2winter- snow from above

3winter- wacky truffles (used the wrong kind of chocolate, they look like spidermonkey food)

4winter- contrast. the snow came in almost horizontally, so only one side of the tree had snow on it.

5winter- scoreboard.

6winter- making gifts (this is actually from a few months ago. buuut, i'm doing the same thing at the moment)

7winter- christmas tree/luces

8winter- tiny perfection

9winter- lone ranger

10winter- hymns

11winter- cathedral during mass

12winter- masked spikes

13winter- homemade cards

14winter- narnia/Menomonie, WI (my favorite place in the town I attend school...)

15winter- Abba.

17winter- paris, dec 2010

Kerstin Danielle is a fourth-year at University of Wisconsin Stout, and a passionate photographer, traveller, and servant of others.

11)Stephen Carradini: There's Been a Lot of “They”

2011-12-13T22:54:00.000-08:00

There's Been a Lot of “They” This Year

So a low-pitched roar from the humidor
Says someone's life is going up in smoke;
Backroom deals made by the faceless “they.”

The love of life is all too easily surrendered
with one more district gerrymandered.
Who is the "they" that brought this down?

A straw man, raw deal, someone to hate
but there's no one there to incinerate
We invent a they to rage against.

But all is not weeping, there still lies a pause
We yet look past ourselves at He who caused
Christmas, Christ in mass, en masse.
Whatever it is they've got, they don't got this.

I believe in one everyone.
An everyone on this side of the manger,
and one soul inside, looking out at us.
And thus he came, born in a humble way,
One outside this "they," to bring us into his “we.”

And now a birth, that matters because of a life,
is celebrated, carols and presents (some reverence)
to remind ourselves of a coming peace on earth,
that we are all a they together, struggling towards
or away from, but all with a singular point of reference:

“whatever it is they got, they don't got this.”

Stephen Carradini is a writer and musician who currently lives in Alabama.

10) Greta Cydzikaitė: He Loves Us

2011-12-13T07:02:00.000-08:00

Click on the image to enlarge.

Greta Cydzikaitė studies Psych, German, and Music at Glasgow University in Scotland. Hailing from Mažeikiai, Lithuania, she is a talented and passionate violinist, and an inspiring friend in service, Spirit, and prayer.

9)Amber Sluis: December Photography

2011-12-12T01:14:00.001-08:00

Amber Sluis: These are the pictures that remind me of how much I love Christmas, through and through. December is just my month. That's probably why I was born in it... I'm glad that it's a great month that we get to celebrate all the cool things that God does for us even when snow isn't falling.

Amber Sluis is a student in Placer County, California. She is an avid photographer, loves kids, and going on missions trips. :)

8)Audrey Miller: Hidden Treasure

2011-12-10T20:52:00.001-08:00

Here is a watercolor I made. You can use it or not. It is an ornament from a tree at my school’s library and it just seemed to say “Christmas” to me. Let’s see if I can explain why… In itself, this is just a cheap glass bauble, but visually it is so very precious. It gleams from its place nestled in the green needles, inviting you to look closer. The way shadow wraps around it and the tinkling stars of the tree’s lights are mirrored in its surface is so complex it is possible to spend hours gazing at it without fully understanding its beauty. Christmas is filled with thousands of visual delights from the shadows from sparking lights of the Christmas tree reflecting on the ceiling to firelight caressing a family member’s face to the languidly draping greenery in the church. Each of these is simple and easy to miss, but if you take the time to really look, you find a fleeting beauty. They are priceless, each one a gift from the God who loves us more than we can comprehend.

Audrey Miller is a student at CSU Chico in California. She is quite the accomplished nerd and an artist, but the most striking thing about Audrey is the joy she finds in life and God.

7)Adriana Polanco: Glory to the Newborn King!

2011-12-09T23:16:00.001-08:00

Please click on the image for a larger size.

Quotations from:

1. O Come, O Come Emmanuel
2. Angels we have heard on High
3. God rest ye merry gentlemen
4. Do you hear what I hear?
5. O Holy Night
6. Silent Night
7. Go tell it on the Mountain
8. What Child is This?
9. Joy to the World
10. Hark the Herald Angels Sing

Adriana Polanco is a freelance Graphic Design Artist in Guatemala, Guatemala, and a talented translator. She also works for Life of Hope Ministries, a ministry that supports ministries working with at-risk youth in Guatemala City, has impeccable taste in music, and prays big prayers.

6)Krista Kahsen: Winter Photography

2011-12-08T21:57:00.001-08:00

Krista Kahsen is a young homeschool student from Temperance, Michigan. Along with photography, she is interested in God, missions, graduating early, and teaching/playing piano rather extensively--and from what I gather, rather well.

5)Robertas Lisickis: [All]

2011-12-07T18:53:00.001-08:00

All I can hear.
Just open your heart.
All I can feel.
My heart split apart.
All I can breathe.
A rush of a mist.
All I can do.
To follow my wrist.

All I can hear.
The crunch of the snow.
All I can feel.
A touch of a blow.
All I can breathe.
The chill of the cold.
All I can do.
Submit and be told.

If ever I hear.
The sound of your breath.
All will I feel.
Your heart in its depth.
If ever I breathe.
The whispering winds.
All will I do.
Will follow its wings.

Robertas Lisickis is a Fourth-Year English Student at LCC International University in Klaipeda, Lithuania. Robertas is friendly and kind in four languages, leads worship, writes poetry, and is a Youtube-video expert.

4)James Metelak: The Incarnate Word + I Heard the Bells

2011-12-06T22:01:00.001-08:00

The Incarnate Word

I. The Waiting

Light a candle for me, my sister,
Keep watch until burns down.
I am waiting for death,
I am waiting for heaven to drown
(the earth).

Light a candle for me, my sister,
Light a candle inside my hand,
Hope is still perching,
The silence is working,
Its way inside of me now.

Prayer is waiting;
Life is very long.

Oh that you would...
How would you,
How could you?
Come down.

The speech became carbon compounds.

Light a candle for me, my sister,
In case God comes down the chimney.
At least there'll be oil in the lamp.
At least in some way I'll be ready.

II. The Incarnate Word

Here
Our merry earth is pregnant
With divine sun,
Stars, skies, waters, eyes, creatures, hands,
Worry lines, the wind rests and curls
Inside, breathe it in, we spew it out.
You cannot be "a little" pregnant,
Overflowing, inconceivable, complex tapestries,
The mothering morning dew burning bright on my tongue.

The world outside is so inconceivable,
sometimes I can hardly speak.

I am lost in the beating drums,
The brilliant light of a thousand suns.
Blinded by brilliance and dull mental schemes,
Trying to sing in tune with streams,
Trying to dance like a dying leaf.

I used to wonder where you are
These days I can't find where you're not.

All that is beautiful and true--old violins,
tulip beds, my Father's hand--smells of
You, even with my hard heart, half-snuffed
spirit spark the music soars my soul,
my words undone. All around is being
born the suns of God, yellow hillsides
with upraised faces, shooting quasars sprouting
from the ground, wheat heavy for harvest,
ripe with weight of glory
that bends roots through earth, twists
air into tongues. Your tyger's voice growls
foundations, pulsing through
trembling earth, blowing wherever it will,
magma melting dross, all
must pass, our glass,
take this fire cup, in these hands, we
craft with creator-creativity
resound with deep sound--our simple
touch, spoken words, pregnant with power
to heal, cast down, to speak as
Angels, Holy Holy Here and Now.

III. The Triumphal Entry

And who is this, man of light? Burro-borne
Throw down your palms,
The word is out.
What immortal hand or eye
could frame...
Who is this in shepherd's sight,
The pious rough who see the shine
Choir-sung, into a stable,
God-spoke into a birth canal,
What invasion! Scandal!
God fraternizing with teenage girls and
Donkeys parked in muddy stalls.
Who is this? No Zeus, illumined,
Transfigured, rabbi man, who comes
Eating and drinking, lamb among
Wolves, lion among jackals, and contrary to the
Pictures, not even wearing a
Halo. What did we do to deserve this
Interruption? This
Full
Stop.

We have to let the game stop.

Saviour of Rome, Saviour of
worlds, comes bearing bread crusts and
parables to Zion. In my gut, his broken blood
germinates and grows, inside me, Holy weed,
Mustard seed, you shouldn't be here, no
you don't belong amongst the thorns,
I'll nail you into pieces of wood, send you
home. Cast the bread upon waters
because no dove could nest its
claws on my stone heart,
Would you, Could you? Coo away
this birdshit with a roar, cast out cobwebs.
Would you? Could you? Nest upon my heart and
Dove, purr your way into my
blood (diseased, unclean) and
shake it out, ruffle my
depths with your word
of peace.
You're just a baby.
Who is this?
What is this coming?

IV. Apple Turn-overs

Inside this human crust,
A warm oven, the tree lights in it, a Mother baking
Congeals something heavenly,
Timer beeps, carols sing,
Rolling over in the grave,
Light a candle for me, my sister,
Not a stone will be left unturned,
Careful you don't get burned,
Not a table be left unturned
When he comes to church.
My Father begins to read
the scriptures.
He has filled the hungry with good things
But the rich he has sent away empty.

V. The Voice

Prayer is waiting.

Yo sé que estás aquí.

Whisper me, knit me, form me, spit me:
Just for one touch, just for this love.
The collision of wind and mud.
The starter's cough, the starting line gun,
When particles collide, fusion lights
a fire inside--you prometheus,
with your torches in clay, what a
sight you've made!
Come rest your coals in this manger heart.
Murmur me, kiss me, breathe me, flip me:
Just for one touch, just for this love.
This cathedral of clasped hands and heartlines,
Mexcla of glass and colour,
Stained once, now run with blood
Compound of spirit with carbon.
Carry me, sing me, drown me, clean me:
Just for one touch,
Just for this love.

Light a candle in me, my lover,
I feel it when the rain comes down,
There's nowhere where you're not found, no,
So open me, have me, illumine, erase me,
Til in You I live and breathe and have my being.

I've always been in your hand.
I am wrecked in your grasp,
Crash on your sand;
may every breath
be scattered seas falling at your
shore. And will it such,
That more than just,
The places your fingerprints mar me, please,
Come back and hold me, kidnap me, enfold me
Forever inside your arms,
Come now.

James Metelak is a writer, musician, the editor of this blog, and a full-time volunteer. He currently resides in Cuecuecuatitla, México.

Quotations (in italics): T.S. Elliot "Hollow Men," Fleet Foxes, "Helpnessless Blues," mewithoutyou "Sun and Moon," William Blake "Tyger, Tyger," Rob Bell "Velvet Elvis," The Magnificat, The Bible.

3)Kathryn Nellis: Annunciation and Lo How a Rose

2011-12-05T11:00:00.001-08:00

Annunciation

Kathryn Nellis is an art student at Gordon College and a talented painter and musician. Her RA, Victoria Petway, assisted in singing "Lo How a Rose."

2)Carl Nellis: Ut Tensio

2011-12-04T10:00:00.000-08:00

Ut tensio
by Carl Nellis

In Beverly there is a bell that does not cease to ring.
Gulls weep and shout at the rim
of a vast ocean.
The world is in parts
a bronze cup to set lips to,
a house of sticks and stones.
Mother Mary would swim, I think, were
she carrying to term today the body
of the boy. She would be thirsty,
wrapped in a towel and smiling,
wearing water shoes,
perhaps not self-conscious
as she walks the seashore rocks.

The thing to drink is the very sorrow
and joy of what the light from the sun
stands on. In the middle, in this din in waves, men
walk about on two legs,
balancing on boat hooks
and eleven inches of soles above vessels
of wrath. Like beavers they built a church
called 'Our Lady Star of the Sea',
mounded mud, wove sticks,
reached beams, laid stone on stone:
a tower carved with her name.
They are sailors. Shrimpers. Oystermen
gnawing on this:
were she here,
there would be that greater guidance,
there would be that hope
that home is worth knowing.
Anger is here
plastered to their foreheads
when they cross the dock to the door.

The mouth of the sea gurgles
at the cliffs, like a mouth in mud
that would swallow them,
though they would not feel it.
The birds, the bell they built themselves
hung in the church tower makes
the call that would wake them,
though they could not move.
Paralysis,
failure to respond,
marks the precarious course.
As schoolboys
halting through Arithmetic, they strained
to know the music of round numbers,
untaught in Aramaic, dressed in denim,
to memorize in the universal
tongue. But weak, and salt laden,
and too seaside blind,
and too young,
they lit out where a single
breath would loose them,
without kindness, without compass,
into the next unitary current,
the movement and communal
passage of a waveform
through every stiff and brittle,
rigid, fluid, pallid, vivid
unconnected thing
which they cannot describe,
and so damp.
Sound, perhaps the laughter
of the girl. The cry, the gasp
of surprise, terror. She?
To be the mother?
Were all the ocean to flow through her?
She may chip the paint, chewing at her nail.

'Maris Stella'
Maria, the seas.
The eyes that see the diffusion
of light from a dusky charcoal shoulder,
shoveled into the furnace so that heat
can crawl up the unseen tunnels, gaps
between the stones, and the air
within the church mysteriously grow
warm. The sun, a star itself,
would show a pregnant girl in a seaside town
her way to the double doors,
and candles would take her from there
to the altar rail, where she would lean,
fidget, itch, and bow in prayer.
But all of this is here for her.

If she, today, were born, and he still only the glow
on the belly of a singing bowl, the whisper of white
wings carrying each calling bird on its wayward course,
each son of sleep in its floating,
this tower, this bell, this hope
would be still two thousand years in the future.
Other shores would be built with temples in her name,
birth navies and magic shows.
Other men would walk in lines to let themselves heal
of the ocean's unsoftened indifference in the warm sanctuary.
The language, the star, the sea. Latin would not be spoken
by worshipers, as Hebrew has been
forgotten, as Greek, as light has gone

unseen, though it moves through gold foil,
reaches a hand, takes the
upholding stem,
the stern and center point that some men call
still, and turns it.

Twists it, that it might talk.
She with one foot on the tower stair
Breathes it, that it might sing.
Lodging in the air
Taps it. It rings.
An unchewed thing, a hand in prayer
Bends it. It gleams.
A whole horizon seen from the topmost place
Begets it, that it might walk.

as a child hung with the lights of heaven
to the eye, ringing to the ear and smoking
in incense, he comes to the sea itself,

The source of all wave forms
steps from beneath the planet's tilt,
from the upholding place to the rock
against which every sound must crash.
Water will lick it, like deer for salt.

The sun will burn it, in the name of all light.
The spin that keeps the balance of the tides
will plead teary-eyed to be allowed
the further usefulness of mathematics
to deserve the thrill, to know it.
He will call all these in a voice both brazen
and still.
Men will walk under rain, though he commands
their iron wills to rust away with anchor chains,
to be freed in the smile of the sea,
to thaw,
to chill.

Yes, where gulls wheel and sing,
where the winter cold ocean stirs and hails
a cup, a vessel, a homebound way,
God in his body by reflection,
She, in what is called advent,
felt it first. We, passed through with every wave
now feel what was felt.

He himself is the ringing bell.

Thanks to James, for 'Sailor' and Eliot for 'Burnt Norton'.
--------------------------------------------------------------

Carl Nellis is a steadfast friend, an excellent writer, and a beardly editor based in Beverly, MA. A graduate of Gordon College, he enjoys tea, music, frisbee, all things Scottish, and all things literary. His profound and beautiful poems can be found at: http://laughingoverthesea.blogspot.com/ .

1)Kelvin Fowler: Two Poems

2011-12-03T10:13:00.000-08:00

Words

Mary's mindfulmiracle maybe miss leading

Bethlehem's bastardboy born beneath a star

stored and stacked in a stingy stinkin' stable

but beautiful boy became big

and bashed backward backsliding bureauracy

the Christ cross-bearer crushed and crusted in crimson blood

suffered surrendered secured the senseless sin of this sinister world

pierced in thepossibility of peace per person personifying personal piety

earnestly eagerly enthusiastically encouraging an encounter with eternity

Mary's mindfulmiracle of mercy merely means

perfection passion peace pardon paradise

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Immanuel

God in hismajesty

God in hishumanity

God withus

God in hiscompleteness

andhumanity in her fullness

Immanuel

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About the artist: Kelvin Fowler is a Kiwi pastor, poet, writer and artist who lives in Klaipėda, Lithuania. He recently completed a poetry tour of the UK and Ireland, and has published a sassy travel memoir "Clueless in America," as well as a couple collections of poetry. Please do not repost these poems without his permission (He says he'll usually grant you permission, just ask first.) You should check out his blog: www.lunch.lt.

25 Days of Christmas 2011 is ON!!!!

2011-11-14T16:00:00.001-08:00

Please send submissions to jimtak23@gmail.com.

Anything artsy and vaguely Christmas related that can be shared online is welcome!!

If Thanksgiving is more your speed, get cracking and I'll post a few early entries. :)

Day 24+25: What Child, On Fire, O Come, and an Original

2010-12-25T06:30:00.000-08:00

I posted four songs on my youtube in the last 48 hours, all of which can be found on my channel, http://youtube.com/lhpoetry

Last night I wrote and recorded "Manger Lullaby" and recorded What Child is This?

This morning after getting off work I went to the beach to check out the sunrise and did "Standing on the Edge" and "Christmas Morning." So take your pick as to what you want to watch. It's all different.

THUS CONCLUDES OUR 25 DAYS: We had artists from Cameroun, Poland, Lithuania, Guatemala, the United States, New Zealand, Scotland and Russia participate, and we had everything from superhero photoshop, india ink, photography, poetry, and music! Thank you all so much for your participation and inspiring works of art! This has been one of the highlights of my year, so thank you again. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Day 23: Bobo: Christmas Modeling

2010-12-24T00:17:00.001-08:00

Day 22: Nkanya Nkwai: If it were you?

2010-12-22T23:36:00.000-08:00

If it were you?

Such is Love, who can tell?

Have you ever fallen in love?

Can love be lust? But lust can be love!

Then can we know how desperate it can be,

When we want to save someone we love,

Someone who belongs to us,

What would you do?

What if the most precious thing you ever got,

The most important thing that came from you:

Your signature and legacy

your son/daughter/sibling/parent

Is trapped, and truth is covered up.

What would you do?

The young girl was called “blessed of all”

She mothered the baby, his natal bed was a manger

But the wise worship him, with gold, frankincense, myrrh.

He was, he is “good news” to you.

Good news that the Almighty stooped down

And a wonder of his love was displayed

Such an irregular descent, who can know?

Godhead reduced to a seed

Planted in virgin territory, to grow.

He set genes and chromosomes

He made the rules and conditions to motions

Who else can do this?

Such an irregular descent, that:

We are his children, He our father!

He made the rules, he changed the rules.

Jesus is rules changed!

If it were you?

Nkanya Nkwai is a Theology student from Cameroun.

Day 21: Maria Plezniak: Cloud and the dune

2010-12-22T01:28:00.000-08:00

Cloud and the dune by Maria Plezniak

"Everyone knows that the lives of clouds are very active, but very short," writes Bruno Ferrero. And that brings us to another story:

A young cloud was born in the middle of a great storm in the Mediterranean Sea. But it hardly had time to grow there; a strong wind pushed all the clouds towards Africa.

As soon as they arrived on the continent, the climate changed: a warm sun shone in the sky, and down below the golden sand of the Sahara desert spread into the distance. The wind continued to push them towards the forests in the south, since it hardly ever rains in the desert.

However, just as it is with young people, so with young clouds: this one decided to break away from its parents and older friends, to see the world.

- What are you doing? - complained the wind. - The entire desert is exactly the same! Come back to the group, and let's go to the centre of Africa, where there are beautiful mountains and trees!

But the young cloud, a rebel by nature, did not obey; little by little, it lowered its altitude, until it was able to float on a gentle, generous breeze down near the golden sands. After wandering all over the place, it noticed that one of the dunes was smiling at it.

It was because the dune was also young, recently formed by the wind which had just passed. Straight away, the cloud fell in love with its golden hair.

- Good morning - said the cloud. - What is it like living down there?

- I have the company of the other dunes, the sun, the wind, and the caravans which pass by from time to time. Sometimes it is very hot, but it is bearable. And what is living up there like?

- There is also the wind and the sun, but the advantage is, I can wander across the sky and get to know everything.

- For me life is short - said the dune. - When the wind returns from the forests, I will disappear.

- And does that make you sad?

- It gives me the impression that I am of no use to anyone.

- I feel the same way. As soon as another wind comes, I will go south and become rain; however, that's my destiny.

The dune hesitated for a moment, before saying:

- Did you know that, down here in the desert, we call the rain Paradise?

- I didn't know I could become something so important - said the proud cloud.

- I've heard several legends told by old dunes. They say that, after the rain, we are covered in herbs and flowers. But I'd never know what that is like, for in the desert it only rains very rarely.

This time it was the cloud which hesitated. But then it started to smile joyfully:

- If you like, I can cover you with rain. Although I've only just arrived, I am in love with you, and would like to stay here forever.

- When I first saw you up in the sky, I too fell in love - said the dune. - but if you turn your lovely white hair into rain, you will die.

- Love never dies - said the dune. - It transforms; and I want to show you Paradise.

And so it began to caress the dune with droplets; they remained together like this for a long time, until a rainbow appeared.

The next day, the small dune was covered in flowers. Other clouds passing towards central Africa, thought that must be part of the forest they were searching for, and poured down more rain. Twenty years later, the dune had become an oasis, which refreshed travellers under the shade of its trees.

And all because, one day, a loving cloud hadn't been afraid to give up its life in the name of love.

Maria Plezniak is a young Polish lady I had the pleasure of meeting at LCC last summer. She's a passionate Catholic and talented folk dancer as well as apparently moonlighting as a fairy tale writer. :)

Day 20: Stephen Carradini: "Get Born"

2010-12-20T13:29:00.000-08:00

"Get Born"

We are not born to be born.

We do not celebrate birthdays

because being born is spectacular

(even if a birth is unusual)

but because of the life that springs

And a birthday will not matter if

there's no life to make the birth

the start of something brilliant

meaningful, memorable, wonderful

and no matter what it has become

and no matter modern life's take

I celebrate everything after the birth

of Christ on Christmas.

For if nothing happened after that,

it's a nice show for shepherds,

some good songs, a road trip

and a freak event (or maybe adultery).

But now we celebrate the birth

all these thousands of years later

because a birth only matters

as long as your life (and death) does.

Day 19: Josiah Hejny: Those who mourn

2010-12-19T11:45:00.000-08:00

Growing up I nearly always counted the days till christmas. Excited for the day I'd get to wake up at 4-6am, hastily interrupt my parents precious sleep, and tear open all the mysterious gifts under the ridiculously tall pine tree in our living room.

Of course my mom insisted that all the kids be present for the vicious ceremony. I could then be found trying my hardest to awaken my older siblings who were much more "mature" and could sleep until 8 or 9 at least without feeling the uncontrollable urge to shred innocent and colorful packaging to bits. All over the floor.

Before or after there was always an extra special gift for an extremely special person: My mom.

Most fondly I remember her receiving a rocking chair. She sat calmly and watched us all marvel at our wonderful gifts.

More love shone from that face than you can imagine.

This day was also her birthday and we made it a point to never let the hurricane of excitement overshadow it. She made it a point to never let us forget we were celebrating the birth of our Savior, something I never grasped as a young child.

My mom passed away in 2008. Every christmas since then has felt inside out, upside down, backwards, and just not right at all.

Every song is tainted with a memory.

Every day is lacking that smile.

The countdown now leads to a morning full of distant, beautiful memories that leave the heart aching.

Yet amongst all these bittersweet memories lies one that I can now, finally, grasp and take comfort in.

My mom would never let me forget it and I never will.

There's a God who loves us enough to send His only Son to as a child to live among us, teach us, and eventually take our place on a bloodied tree. Saving us from ourselves.
A God who cares about our smallest worries.
A God who can comfort a motherless child.

More love shines from His face than you can imagine.

Day 18: Kate Metelak: Winter Photography

2010-12-18T16:10:00.000-08:00

Kate's Photoshow

I have to say, it looks better on a black background: Channel

The song is Hoppipola by Sigur Ros.

Day 17: James Metelak: For the Birds

2010-12-16T22:24:00.000-08:00

For the Birds

Three sparrows beat around the

holly bush;

Deck the halls with alcohol!

Pine needle tree acupuncture in

your living room,

Keep the nerves down.

The chickadees titter away on the scene

the past years’ goings on

While mother hen calculates

the credit card bill,

Runs the numbers again,

Equal shares for each chick.

Starlings chortle carols,

The Grouse puffs up his finest feathers,

Ravens croak “Bah humbug”

at the tappings at their doors,

Peacocks curl eyelashes,

pose beneath mistletoe,

Jays hawk wares at market stores

While the Cardinals wave their primaries,

nod so solemnly;

Turtledoves nod, hood their heads,

coo and wink.

A tizzy of feathers and torn wrapping paper,

the returns and the profits are in,

December 26th:

A nightingale lullabies

in the early morning

at an empty manger

The straw-scattered holy family

exhausted by in-laws

and fire codes

Sleep softly with God

in their midst.

Day 16: Chris Krycho: Joseph Holds the Son of God

2010-12-15T22:33:00.001-08:00

Please listen to: Joseph Holds the Son of God

This piece and the poem below are closely related and complementary, though each can be appreciated on its own. For notes on the composition of both music and poetry, see the end notes.

Joseph Holds the Son of God

Twilight, in a bright little house

        in the town of Nazareth.

A craftsman rocks an infant child;

        he feels the gaze of the stars.

Words fail him as the twinkling eyes

        of his son catch heavenlight.

No phrase conveys his sentiment:

        Joseph holds his infant son.

Sixteen weeks since the miracle happened,

        the boy is restless, colicky and noisy,

so Joseph rocks him as his mother sleeps;

        only Heaven knows how much she needs to rest.

She rarely speaks of what God's messenger

had told her over sixty weeks ago,

but solemnity is ever mingled

        with her joy, responsibility and hope.

Sixteen weeks, and already so much change,

        little fingers stretching,

the torso filling out with baby fat,

        and chubby cheeks for smiles.

Every passing day he is hungrier,

        less sleepy, more alert,

inquisitive and eager to explore

        his slowly growing world.

Nothing had prepared him for this terrifying joy,

His workman's hands (and mind) tremble in expectation

Of coming years when they would shape not only a house

But a man, a man who might fulfill his nation's hope.

Nothing had prepared him for this mix of happy fear;

His skill is in creating good, simple furnishings,

Not training a leader, a prophesied savior king,

But Adonai has spoken and Joseph will obey.

Nothing had prepared him for this marvelous weight,

To look down in happiness his heart could not contain

At his son, the child his beautiful wife had born him,

This child he'd had no part in siring, who came from God.

Nothing had prepared him for this striking, horrified delight,

The wondrous reality of a human child, his to raise,

With all the possibilities that entailed, and nightmares too,

Yet Adonai was faithful and true, God's will be done, he prays.

Sunrise, in a dark little house

        in the town of Nazareth.

A craftsman rocks an infant child;

        he feels the heat of sunrise.

Words fail him as the waking gaze

        of his son shines clear and pure.

Delighted, humbled, awed, amazed,

        Joseph holds the son of God.

The notes that follow are not necessary to understand either poem or music; they are presented simply for those interested in the creative process behind composition and poetry of this sort.

I sat down to write the piece of music that inspired this poem eleven days ago. When I began, I wasn't sure where I was going with the piece; I only knew it was a very different direction from last year's piece...ithin a few hours, I had the opening piano section worked out, and as I got up to go eat dinner, I finally understood what I was writing: Joseph holds the son of God: image, phrase, and feeling all in one.

Over the intervening days, I slowly shaped the music to convey that idea. Joseph holds the Son of God: what was he thinking and feeling, some cool evening under a Nazareth sky, the miracle itself both behind him and nestled in his arms? Fatherhood is, by all accounts, a stunning enough feeling all its own. Add that the child in your arms is God's promised Messiah, with all the national and religious hopes tied up in that...he is your responsibility to raise... how would you feel? I don't know the answer to that question, but I hope the piece conveys a little of the sweetness and the awe and the mystery that faced Joseph a little over two millennia ago.

When I finished the music, I realized I wanted to write an accompanying poem, the poem printed above. The structure of the poem is derived from the structure of the composition. The music opens, transitions into new material which it then repeats slightly altered, introduces the main theme (a development from the previous material) and builds on it thrice over, and then concludes with a modified restatement of the opening. The poem does much of the same.

Slightly subtler is the structure of the stanzas: each quatrain is composed of lines whose syllabic count is the same as the number of measures in the corresponding section of the music. In some sense, then, the poem is deeply derivative of the piece of music. On the other hand, the poem stands well on its own: While the derived structure gives it ties to the music, the same structure frees it to have a unique, original feel of repetition and variation.

Day 15: Robertas Lisickis: A Gift

2010-12-15T00:00:00.001-08:00

Pacing down
towards my home -
Gazing at the matter
ever blown -
It has a dusty
misty air to it.
Snow and flakes
heavenly are lit.

Round the corner,
ever so struggling,
is stuck a car,
through avalanche, juggling.
Skidding in one spot,
simply stands silently stuck.
Seeking a fortunate spot,
through toil and hard buck.

With no call,
not a man in sight,
I jump to push,
pursue its goal with might.
With Him was I strong,
to push it out the slip.
Right back then,
I felt my broken heart flip.

Robertas Lisickis is a Poet, a Lithuanian Student who likes to play with English while manning the University Front Desk. His wordplay is always fun and often impressive.

Day 14: Matt Howard: O Come

2010-12-13T22:12:00.000-08:00

O Come All Ye Faithful

Matt Howard is a musician and photographer from Fallbrook, CA. I'm not sure what his latest band project is, but most of them are pretty sweet these days. :)

Day 13: Georgia Brooker: Two Winter Poems

2010-12-12T22:51:00.000-08:00

The More it Snows

Looking here
out on the snow
where every man-
made box
has stopped its flow,
while icy rivers
shiver trees
by stagnant ponds,
I freeze
to see how such
re-structured patterns
fuse in fronds
that snap
at that old frosted doubt
that tries to frame
a blurring name
or question
which will crack my lips
and chap my flaking skin.

I ask at last
if any word
or world-locked vessel
fits quite the same
outside as in.

Powercut Night

Those childhood blackouts
pulled us close;
small hands held, warmed
to the rapture of candles
‘til the sun turned up
and the chimney huffed
a thin, mean sneeze of smoke.

Still some nights now
that extinguished glow
melts the lines in our faces –
grown brittle, opaque –
to a clear, molten flow
which morning will harden,
tear-shaped by the cold.

Georgia Brooker is a Scottish Librarian and will be one of the great Poets of this generation.

Day 12: Ieva Mileskaite: Merry Christmas!

2010-12-11T20:44:00.000-08:00

Ieva Mileskaite is multi-talented student from Mažiekiai, Lithuania.

Day 11: Greg Wilson: O Holy Night

2010-12-10T20:10:00.000-08:00

An Orchestral Arrangement:

To listen, click the link below:
O Holy Night

Greg Wilson is a Music student from Norman, Oklahoma and a talented pianist, percussionist, and violinist.

Day 10: Katie Joy Nellis: Mary with Child

2010-12-09T22:39:00.001-08:00

Day 9: Greg McArthur: O come O come Emmanuel

2010-12-08T20:59:00.000-08:00

How often do you feel like God has abandoned you? Don't try to pretend like it doesn't happen; it's pretty typical. He's used to us humans being disappointed with Him: Half of the Psalms are laments. As a musician, I find great comfort in that kind of brutal honesty. Music is nothing without honesty, especially when you're addressing the Almighty.

If you have ever tried any sort of a relationship with God, you've experienced that He is sometimes hard to comprehend and hard to follow. Christ told us this up front: "Simply put, if you're not willing to take what is dearest to you, whether plans or people, and kiss it good-bye, you can't be My disciple." That's from Luke 14. It's not an easy thing to hear, nor does it sound like the time of your life. Yet the Scriptures are full of tough sayings and truths. We are sometimes left bewildered when we read God's precious Word.

The Jews must have felt very bewildered in the time leading up to Christ's birth: Their nation was under political oppression. Their culture and traditions stood out like a sore thumb in the empire. Numerous leaders rose up and proclaimed themselves the liberator of the Jewish people, rallying many to their causes. They were all killed and silenced.

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear

Caesar Augustus proclaimed the gospel of the Roman Empire: Peace under Rome! Abundance under Rome! Simply follow Rome and all will be well! Things were not looking up for God's people. Rome's hand tightened, and the situation began to look more and more desperate. Yet there were those who chose to trust God that hope was coming; they knew that God had not abandoned the earth.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan's tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o'er the grave

Then, on a lonely night in a stable, God was born. He came as an infant through a teenage girl's womb, emptying Himself of all glory--God took no advantage of His status--In fact, He took on the status of a bondservant!

God's coming was not full of peace, as Satan is always at the ready to thwart God's plans. Satan attempted to kill the God child through the Massacre of the Innocents. Darkness attempted to snuff out the Light, but Hope survived.

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight.

Remember, though, by the time Christ child had fled to Egypt to escape Herod, very few were aware of God's now-human presence on the earth: His parents, a few shepherds, some wise men from the East, and the evil Herod. No great following, no loyal servants, no royal entourage. Not until He was 30 years old did He have devoted followers, and they weren't exactly the bravest bunch of men you could find.

You can understand, then, why so many of God's chosen people were so quick to disbelieve that Jesus was the Messiah. He had no military, no political aspirations, and no intention of overthrowing Rome through force. He was not there to bring the kind of liberation the Jews were looking for.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.

Throughout the Gospels, Christ is frustrated at the lack of faith displayed by the Jewish people. He performs many signs, but the people either look for more earthly signs of comfort or believe that He's a servant of Satan.

In Matthew 8, a Roman centurion approaches Christ because his servant is ill, and Christ offers to come heal the servant. Yet the centurion says, "Don't go to all that trouble. Besides, I'm not worthy for You to come to my house. I understand how these things work. I'm a man who gives orders to people all the time. Simply say the word, and I know that my servant will be well."

The centurion recognizes Christ's power over sickness. This outsider soldier has seen the might of the great Roman army and its ability to conquer nations, yet he believes that one man's words have more power than any physician of the time.

And what is Christ's response to this? "I've never seen such faith in Israel! This man is the first of many outsiders who will pour into the Kingdom from all directions, sitting at the banquet with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob! The people who grew up 'in the faith' but had no faith will be out in the cold, outsiders from grace wondering what happened."

Oh how precious these words are! Christ's warning should still be heard today! If we have no faith, we will be outside of God's grace. Growing up in the faith affords us no special privileges. If we don't believe, there will be no salvation.

God simply asks faith from us, and yet we find every excuse to withhold our trust. We forget: Hope is coming. God has not abandoned the earth. He sent His Son. That same Son will come again. That same Son who healed the sick, raised the dead, forgave sins, He has not left us. We are never alone.

Just as Advent is a remembering of the time leading up to the coming of Christ, it should be a time for us to look forward to His second coming. Our faith should not waver, for we have a God who keeps His promises. No matter how dark things look, no matter how bewildered you may become no matter how hard God may be to understand sometimes, remember this: He is always with us, even to the end of time.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

Day 8: Liza Karagyan and Olya Varkentin: Superhero!

2010-12-07T18:42:00.001-08:00

Day 7: Adriana Polanco: Navidad

2010-12-06T22:51:00.000-08:00

Day 6: Jonathan Kusnerek: Siberian Saying

2010-12-05T23:37:00.000-08:00

Day 5: Jaimie Dawn Krycho: Pencil Sketch

2010-12-04T19:36:00.000-08:00

Day 4: Carl Nellis--'When Dividing the Plunder'

2010-12-03T23:06:00.000-08:00

'When Dividing the Plunder'
by Carl Nellis

Those who walked in darkness
have seen a great light, arced
high by harkangels to prick
the hearts of blood, darken
the darkness, impart wisdom
through vision; a light
for the feet, a light
for the path, a lasting light

like the breast of a songbird,
the sun reflected in the eye,
a white star floating on the years
between creation and destination.
A light made for itself,
claimed and reclaiming
gravity in harmony and artful
dances. Light pulled by every
invisible hand, the only thing
seen and unthanked,
demanded and unvisible
until it is a blinding burden,
a painful visitor, a flame
collecting the unpaid price
of a lovely life of sight.

A light like all the white things
in the sky, floating teeth,
walls, the roundness of eyes
outside the iris, falling goose
feathers, smooth unseen skin,
a white nightslip, a nightly sailing
ship, a heavenly ghost,
a high and holy host,
men bleaching grain, the simmering
unsipped kitchen of a girl.

We the walkers have seen
this on the waters, the tombs,
the thousand fish, felt this
on the shoulders crossed
in cane stripes, eaten this
from the old men’s hands,
a pacific light harvesting
direction, light wondering
of reflection, light mighty
of perfection, royal beauty.

Day 3: Kelvin Fowler: Oh Shepherd Boy

2010-12-02T22:52:00.000-08:00

Oh Shepherd Boy
(A Christmas Poem)

Oh shepherd boy who greeted many newborn lambs,
Did you realise that you greeted the newborn Lamb of God?

Shepherd boy of temple lambs,
Did you understand that you met the lamb who made your temple obsolete?

Shepherd boy,
Did you ever imagine that you would meet the Shepherd of our souls?

Shepherd boy who saves lost sheep,
You met the saviour, the messiah, your Lord.

Oh shepherd boy, who slept by night under the stars,
Did you know that you visited the Bright Morning Star?

Jewish shepherd boy of humble beginnings,
Could you conceive that the humble babe in the feed-box was your King?

Shepherd boy,

Your worship that beautiful night, it was the first Christ mass.

About the artist: Kelvin Fowler is a Kiwi pastor, poet, writer and artist who lives in Klaipėda, Lithuania. Please do not repost this poem or painting without his permission (He says he'll usually grant you permission, just ask first.) You should check out his blog: www.lunch.lt , I personally am enjoying reading through his book "Clueless in America" on there at present, it's both hillarious and inspiring.

Day 2: Leslie Miller: Christmas Feelings

2010-11-30T22:54:00.000-08:00

I have always felt that the Christmas season is when the centuries come together, the gulf of years blurs, and the ages of the past almost touch the present in a golden swell of celebration. Nowadays in the US, everything is changing at breathtaking speed; old ways are scarcely thought of. However, Christmas is the time of tradition. At Christmas there are Christmas trees, and fires, and stockings, and cookies, and carols, because that is how it is always done and how it should be. Most of our holidays are relatively recent; Christmas goes back, back to before Europe found the New World, and yet further back.

For me, one of the most enjoyable parts of Christmas was decorating the tree. My dad would string the colored lights on it, haul the boxes of ornaments into the room, stretch to set the crumpled golden angel on top, and then turn the rest of us loose to wreak havoc. Everyone except Dad had to hang ornaments; simply looking on was Not Allowed. The goal was to get as many ornaments on the tree as could possibly fit. The only other rules were that the few ‘special’ ornaments, such as pictures, were to be hung by the person they belonged to, and everyone knew not to hang a heavy ornament near the top. My younger sister, as the shortest, took it on herself to fill the lower branches, my brother would stretch to hang ornaments as high as he could, and the middle was a free-for-all. There were occasional disputes about who got to hang the prize ornaments, such as the musical mice, but nothing serious. The result was always a glorious mess. Rocking horses, baby pictures, snowmen, colored glass balls, kittens, and angels mixed together in joyful disregard for balance or aesthetics. It was great fun.

While I’ve always enjoyed Christmas, for some people it is a sad time. That is because it is supposed to be happy, but things are different or people are gone. The memories of joyful Christmas pasts thronging so close to the gates of time seem to mock the present and make it more unbearable. Christmas is a sad time for some because it is a happy season, and there is a sense of alienation if you cannot join in the excitement.

Part of the excitement of Christmas is wrapped up in the songs: Joy to The World, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, What Child is This, O Little Town of Bethlehem, Hark The Herald Angels Sing, The First Noel. I remember singing them with carolers at a hospital when I was too young to read the songs I didn’t know. I remember them winding among other dear silly songs on my Dad’s Christmas records. I remember pounding them out with grinning enthusiasm on the piano at home and when visiting relatives. I remember singing them in church, year after year after year, swaying and vying with my brother and sister in volume, listening to my dad’s voice make that little catch it has when he reads something that makes him nearly cry, and hearing my mom with us all. Gloria in Excelsis Deo!

Suddenly it’s 620 in Austria. An aged and shriveled monk kneels among his rough brown robes in his sparse cell to begin an especially long prayer. It’s 1806 on the high seas. Given an extra grog ration and an unusual few hours off, some of the seamen hurry below to catch some sleep, while others gather boisterously around the fiddler, heedless of the piercing wind. It’s 1915 in Europe. War-weary and frostbitten Allied and German troops emerge from the trenches and begin a pick-up game of soccer with each other. It’s 1878. The churchbell rings in a snow-covered mid-western US town, calling the settlers to meeting around a candle-lit pine tree. It’s 1750 in England. At a village pub the bartender lights a bowl of punch on fire for the guests to drink, as his wife bustles about overseeing the cooking. Why? It’s Christmas.

Christmas has the same feeling every year. Oh, things change for everyone, but there is a general feeling of happiness, excitement, and celebration. There is always anticipated delight in giving and getting gifts, always the getting together with family, and always the celebration and thanks of the child God. Someone from the past might be very confused about most aspects of our world today, but they might understand Christmas. There is still the reason for the season.

Sing the songs you used to, watch the Christmas plays that come once a year, give a nod to the joyful watching multitude from the past, and remember, remember. Remember Christmases you knew, and remember Christmases before you were born, back, eventually, to Bethlehem.

Leslie Miller is a Nurse in San Antonio, Texas with a love for life, singing, and Christmas.

Day 1: Greta Cydzikaitė: The Third Snow

2010-11-30T22:14:00.001-08:00

Photography by my friend Greta!!! Greta is a student in Mažeikiai, Lithuania, and although I know her as a pianist and folk singer, she also has some pretty mean photography skills. :)

Twelve Days of Christmas!!!!!!!

2010-11-25T10:05:00.000-08:00

So here we are with year two of our annual twelve days of Christmas artistic collage!! Send your poems, songs, photographs, videos, design, paintings, compositions that have some kind of Christmas or Incarnation theme with "12 Days of Christmas" in the Title to jimtak23 (it's a gmail address, you can figure it out).

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Headpiece Filled with Straw is a blog dedicated to showcasing amateur artistic talent of the highest caliber. We value heart, artistry, and content. Feel free to submit something, and we'll share and link to your blog/profile as well if we find your piece post-worthy and appropriate.

All submissions are taken for posting only. Any further use of these posts will be subject to further permission from the artists.