I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.
-Emily Dickenson-
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The longing inside when you're not here weighs me down like a cloak I wear.
Your love for me, your gentle will I have now found, therefore I feel the reality revealed to me that when I was astray and lost your compass led me to the cross.
Sacrifice and prophecy, a journey to the temple. Something extraordinary began with tradition. Offering to God their infant son, confirmed spiritually by Simeon. The maternal yearnings that never part foretell a sorrow near Mary's heart.
A bale of hay, a majestic cry, a brilliant star in the velvet sky. A stable wait, as shepherds kneel and angels still celebrate as heaven sings for the King of Kings. A humble birth, God on earth.
He came to her with a prayer, for all time revealing who she would bear. Glory and majesty she humbly wears. Queen of Heaven, a mother who perpetually cares.
A journey, a path, a mission, a task. A life devoted, a message received, a calling, a gift for those who believe. A hope, a perpetual peace, a wellspring ever ready for our soul's relief.