Christmas morning, Lord, and 12:01 am
and my grudging heart supplicates to be made a bit softer.
All this worldly care!
these wrappings of things so giftly
and not a thing among them
Bald books, and toys, and socks and things
all none which I'd take with me were I to die:
(on that journey, only kept are time and love and learning)
Whyso does Christmas feel so like striving?
Why a struggle and not filled with peace?
Grant me peace Lord
as the centering turn of a still cool night
ripost my struggle to
the repose of a child, sweet breath of the innocent.
Please bear from me these feelings selfish and
prick my mind in remembrance of You crucifed.
Further, to look for those so presently trussed
(if bound in such way by others or self doing; no matter),
let me be one who remembers Thy admonition:
'Behold thy mother!'
let them into my heart, my truest home
my considerations of them as I'd consider me, or mine own.
Unhood mine eyes to see them as Thou would
for Thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory, forever.