Advent of Becoming
For these things I weep; my eyes flow with tears;
for a comforter is far from me,
one to revive my courage;
my children are desolate, for the enemy has prevailed.
God meets hurting earth and a Child is born;
what does this mean for a
world sorely torn?
What can Holy One up there be thinking?
tremendous sorrows and pain borne,
our stated hope in God – is it
Are we relishing in being forlorn?
existing, invisible, there somewhere?
And yet we complain; we
can hardly bear.
Time, location seems absurd, yet coming?
Arriving where, with eyes gone?
Here is Advent, upon us, time of
… Pausing for new life that seems beckoning.
Bundled, vulnerable in cold desert morn;
that woman’s body unwraps glory born.
El - Holy One of timelessness,
vast galaxies, bound in a twinkling
to Essence, Power, and
Design so clear;
life once trundled and desperate - unclear
with stuffed hearts blinding,
with minds foiled by self concern
here is God once spurned
opening eyes to eternity yearned!
by Virginia M. Kimball, 2009