Advent: The Gift / Linda Lobmeyer
On my knees after Eucharist in the season
of advent, and the shoot from the stump
of Jesse kicked inside of me. Light seeped
through tiny cracks and what I held tottered,
sloshing inside me. My heart grew heavy,
and I dropped it. Like a glass jar, it shattered
against the tile floor, and all I knew, all
of my comfort and joy, puddled on the floor.
It had held as much as my heart could contain.
So full, now too small to hold everything.
Near the shards of brokenness, I find
a pearl, the treasure ever-expanding.
Across the church the priest closes the door
of the tabernacle. He pauses on his knees
before the drip of love that won’t stop
eroding me, carving new cracks, so that
each time I drop this earthen vessel,
the gift remakes me.
Advent: The Gift: Copyright 2021 by Linda Lobmeyer. All rights reserved.
3 thoughts on “Advent: The Gift”
This has some beautiful metaphors
“the shoot from the stump of Jesse kicked inside of me” — I love the images
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Benjamin, Thank you! That image was in the first draft of this one which of course, led me to the title as that scripture from Isaiah is read during advent.