The volume of blessings
Poured on my life
From parents to children to wife,
From friends to home to job,
To food and pants and shoes –
Run down over head
And deep into heart
Forming joy that keeps out the blues.
To waiting and wond’ring
I rarely give
The label of blessing or live,
As if a road not easy
Or decisions much harder
Are worth precious time
Or bring needed growth.
They’re all too often non-starters.
Yet Advent slows souls and
Pries open ears
To hear through ones tears
That the One whose birth comes,
Blends joy with my pain and life
With my death day after day
Creating a waiting
That’s worth it.
