Some of us celebrate Christmas with surety about the truth of the Savior’s birth. Some of us feel lonely, isolated from the apparent joy that seems to come so easily to those who testify of what they know.
Some of us are surrounded by loved ones, embraced at family gatherings, welcomed with open arms by neighbors at ward or branch Christmas dinners. Others of us feel the sting of disillusionment and sorrow amidst a crisis of faith (or any number of marginalizing burdens) most acutely during the holidays. We’re not sure where we belong or if we’re welcome at all.
Some of us are clear about the path we have chosen. Others of us find ourselves slogging along what seems like a muddy road to enlightenment. Where ever we are, we keep looking, keep pressing on toward the thing or things that speak truth to our souls and bring us peace.
I’m looking for words to express something that moves me deeply, but about which I have been unable to write. So, I wrote about that – about the journey to find the words, a journey to enlightenment. May we all find what we seek. That is my hope for you, dear reader, this Christmas season and always. At very least, may you find your star.
Waiting for Words
I listen to the song in my head
about a manger, wonder how to
write the Only Story.
I wander through holy lands in my heart,
patient pen cradled between fingers,
descend beside a stream of tears
into the silent night.
Lambs bleating on hillsides
disappear when I turn to look,
their keepers gone with them.
Men from the East move together
toward redemption, their tale told in
beams of moonlight, while I
walk ancient roads, wordless, alone,
watch dust blow away toward Bethlehem.
Still, still in the long dark
I hear a lullaby, lift my eyes,
hoping for a wise star.
Melody Newey © 2013