It’s time to unveil
a new year. Inhale fresh air,
and care for what’s there.
Let my voice take wing
to sing in the key of peace.
May mercy increase
where now there are chains.
Where cold-heartedness remains,
may warmth fill my veins.
Let love with no caps
gush compassion, not rationed
in morsels or scraps.
Make me teachable
and easily reachable
when You wish to speak.
Please help me seek You.
In new ways through this new year,
help me feel You near.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
At Christmastime, reflecting on our God,
I see a rich and sumptuous show of grace.
A story so enthralling bids me laud
A baby boy, born in a lowly place.
God simply breathed, and life then came to be.
He spoke-spilled stars that move at His command.
He fashioned sand and man, and shell and sea,
This God who values meek, as well as grand.
So when it came to paying debt of sin,
He chose to do the grandest thing of all
In such a way that awes me deep within:
Majestic use of unforeseen, and small.
A vulnerable newborn was His means,
Born of a humble woman in her teens.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
“Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.” ~ Isaiah 7:14
“This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly. But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”).” ~ Matthew 1:18-23
“She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” ~ Matthew 1:21
The best gift of all
Doesn’t come from a sleigh.
No, the best gift of all?
Sacred love, in scant hay.
(c) Marie Elena Good, 2020
‘Twas the morning of Christmas,
And Santa was spent,
Having just returned home
From his yearly event.
After taking his shower
And downing his Joe,
He awoke Mrs. Claus
With a sweet kiss hello.
On their loveseat they sat
With the best Book on earth
To read St. Luke’s account
Of the Christ Child’s birth.
“By miraculous means
A young woman conceived,
And the baby she bore
Would save all the deceived,”
“Which includes you and me,”
Santa said, his voice low;
His eyes brimming with tears
From his heart’s overflow.
“And the best gift of all
Doesn’t come from my sleigh.
No, the best gift of all?
Sacred love, in scant hay.”
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
Never Have I Ever
is a party game, where one says,
“Never have I ever ___.”
(fill in the blank)
Those who have actually done that thing
lose a point.
Out of points? Out of game.
I’ll go first.
Never have I ever
seen early-voting lines,
let alone those that extend for blocks,
for days.
Now, how many of you are still in the game?
Truth is,
it’s not a game.
The stakes are high.
The views, dissimilar.
What do you see in the distance?
Hope?
Fear?
A kinder country?
Loss of freedoms?
Peace?
Chaos?
Don’t answer that. Because,
you know,
never have I ever
witnessed a greater loss
of kindness and respect
in discussions.
But, there is a vanishing point
where the look-back perspectives align.
Then we will see, and smile
at the vanity of it all.
In the greater distance, I see
celestial shores.
No lines needed.
We will know for the first time
what it actually feels like to be united.
To have no doubts in our King’s
kindness, love, and justice.
We will know for the first time
what it actually feels like
to be equal children
of the Living God.
To be home.
Never have I ever
longed more deeply
for a non-foreign Shore.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
Catching Bernie in 17 syllables of 5/7/5:
Your playful thank yous
Your throw-your-head-back laughter
Your joy in Jesus
❤
Bernie, it was a pleasure knowing you all these years. You taught so many of us how to be appreciative of every little thing, and that our joy is wholly in Jesus. My heart sings for you, knowing you are now with Him … freed from the body that trapped you.
Photo by Daniel Reche, courtesy of Pixabay
Oh, stillness deep within me, never wane
when chaos saturates the world without.
I know the very God who sees and reigns –
whose still, small voice speaks peace, and quiets doubt.
He gave mankind a gnawing in our soul
that won’t be satisfied without His will.
And only He can quench that thirsty hole;
and only through His food, we get our fill.
At times, my praise rings sonorous and strong,
and springs from nourished soul that feeds on Him.
At times my praise, just weak and weary song,
seeps sluggishly from apathy within.
Oh, Father, fill me up when I am drained,
and may my praise be endless; unrestrained.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
I wish I knew who to attribute this to.
Who were these women,
walking the path with Jesus,
this innocent man?
This One who showed them
they were not to be trampled –
thought as second class.
This One who showed them
they could learn and understand
scripture, and His words.
Who were these women
who did not turn away as
He was crucified?
Exhibiting strength
in their engulfing anguish –
strength I cannot know.
Facing the horror,
these women were not silent.
They howled in their grief,
but also in their
denunciation of this
slaughter of virtue.
Inconsolable,
but not without perception,
and not without hope.
As they witnessed His
final words, were they surprised?
This man that they loved
wasn’t just a man.
Even the centurion
who observed His death
exclaimed, “Certainly
this man was the Son of God.”
My Lord, and My God.
Through their mourning eyes,
did they sense that this dear man
was their Messiah?
Forgive me, my Lord.
I would not have had the strength
to attend to You.
Lamentably, I’d
have worried, crying to You
from my peaceful home,
averse to falling
apart with the sufferer.
(Forgive me, my friends).
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
Image by Gerd Altman, courtesy of Pixabay
I swear Jesus knew.
As we dipped bread together…
had to look away …
My paranoia.
Yes. That’s it. It has to be.
He couldn’t have known.
He couldn’t have known.
There’s no way. But if my life
depended on it …
I’m not thinking straight.
What am I about to do?
I’ve known him so long.
What am I about?
Oh God, what am I about?
What’s in it for me?
A few silver coins,
and I’ll turn against my friend?
That’s not all I am!
A man of my word.
That’s what I’m about. I’ve been
paid for a service.
And he doesn’t know.
I am overthinking this,
and it’s time to go.
**
What was he feeling?
He looked worn, but expectant.
That didn’t stop me.
Now I know he knew.
Would anything have stopped me?
Anything at all?
God, what have I done?
But I didn’t have a choice.
Did I have a choice?
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
By János Pentelei Molnár – biblia.huA Biblia a magyar képzőművészetbenPic, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18270499
You found inside you
the price to betray a friend:
that of one suitcoat.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
“What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you?” So they counted out for him thirty pieces of silver.” ~ Matthew 26:15
