pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: Christ Child

CHRISTMAS’S ONLY PERFECT GIFT

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If one knew not what Christmas was about,
it seems that they’d find little evidence
of Jesus Christ.  Not much to make them doubt
the countless signs of our greed’s eminence.

The season focuses on “perfect” gifts,
beginning in our early childhood.
Our storefronts mostly offer toys and glitz,
all tempting us to spend more than we should.

It’s not that I’m a “humbug.” Truly, not.
But when I’m home from shopping, my heart warms.
My focus shifts from things that I have bought,
to what I wish were more the season’s norms.

A Christmas flag portrays Christ’s holy birth.
A swaddled Baby rests in bed of straw:
This One Who Saves, through whom we have our worth,
Whose sinless life fulfilled for us God’s law.

The manger scene glows warm beneath my tree,
while Santa makes his presence known nearby –
his hat removed, head bowed, on bended knee,
in humble awe.  Let God be glorified!

Let’s celebrate the birth of God’s own Son.
In Him, our full redemption has been won!

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

 

GOD BLESSED US, EVERY ONE

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Image credit:  Pixabay

 

Can we be thankful
for that which we aren’t aware
we’ve even received?

Yet God has blessed us,
every one of us, with
His very own Son,

leaving the glory
of heavenly realms aside,
born of a virgin

in humblest of means,
crying with the bleating sheep,
and braying donkeys.

No silent night, this,
yet holy, miraculous,
and liberating.

A virgin woman
bore this “for unto us” Child
in obedience

to the very God
Who chose her to give life to
the Giver of Life.

She named Him Jesus.
He who had no beginning –
Who was here before

the world’s foundation –
the Co-Creator of all –
became a newborn.

He grew in wisdom,
and did only that which His
Father told Him to.

His Father gave Him
all things, and left our judgement
in His holy hands.

We are guilty, all.
But the Father made a way:
His name is Jesus.

God gave His own Self
in the Person of the Son
to redeem the lost.

We are all the lost,
falling short of God’s glory.
But now He sees us

through the saving grace
of The One who redeemed us
on Calvary’s cross.

So I ask again:
Can we be thankful for that
which we aren’t aware

we’ve even received?
Jesus Christ died once, for all.
Many witnessed it.

And many witnessed
also His resurrection
from that very death –

the death that was ours.
He gifted us with His love,
and His saving grace.

Know Him, and know this:
God sanctified us. God blessed
us, every one.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019

SACRED NIGHT

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In Bethlehem, did silent snow
fall soft upon a crèche,
that holy night when star aglow
announced God in the Flesh?

Although the chances may be slim
snow graced the Christ child’s birth,
it oft adorns Yule’s art and hymn,
as we fête Peace on Earth.

Perhaps it speaks of Spotless Lamb,
on silent, holy night —
Redeeming Gift of Great I Am,
reflecting Love’s Pure Light.

And though I may project snow dreams
on this most sacred eve,
I honor Babe whose love-light beams –
this One whom I believe.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

A WOMAN, CALLED (Second Sonnet to Mary, Mother of God)

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And who would take my word, this pregnant teen,
Who claimed an angel visited my room,
To tell me God Himself had set the scene
To place His Very Son inside my womb?

And how could I say anything but “Yes,
Be done to me according to Your word.”
And how could I be anything but blessed,
When first The Living Word within me stirred.

And how was I to know that God’s own Son
Would start His life inside a feeding trough,
And end on crucifix  (would anyone?),
Exploited, battered, bartered, “crowned,” and scoffed.

And when I think my womb shared blood with God,
Who gave me life? I’m humbled, blessed, and awed.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

OF HUMBLE MEANS (Sonnet to the Newborn King)

 

 

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Public domain photo

Expectant couple travels far and fierce.|
She, full with child, atop a gentle ass.
He, worried as her sighs begin to pierce,
And finding there’s no room in inns they pass.

He, with no proper room to birth her child,
Secures a proffered stable to take rest.
The Babe comes quickly, there amidst the wild.
He frees her Son, and lays Him at her breast.

The Newborn listens to the bleating sheep.
The feeding trough He lies in smells of hay.
His weary mother tries to get some sleep,
Through rolling sounds of cry and bleat and bray.

Great throngs of angels revel in this day –
In lowly trough, there lies The Truth.  The Way.

 

© Marie Elena Good, 2017

Extravagance of the season

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Photo by Deanna Marie Metts

The extravagance 
of the season, embodied:
God, wrapped in infant.