I'm spending all of my days in bed
I'm spending all of my time trying way too hard for nothing
I'm spending my energy worrying about something that doesn't matter anymore
I'm spending
I'm spending
I'll soon be spent
All gone
Done.

My minister said
Two Sundays ago, that
"Christmas will always disappoint."
It was jarring,
Unnerving.
A minister said such a thing?

But wait, keep listening.
You'll see it makes sense.
You'll see it's true.

The Jews were expecting
A king to overthrow the Romans.
They expected trumpets blaring,
A white horse carrying
Their savior.

They got a helpless baby
Heralded by shepherds
And the bleating of sheep,
Born of a poor peasant woman
In a poor peasant town
In a poor peasant barn
Of a poor peasant inn.
How disappointing.

We expect the family to be together
We expect love and happiness
During the Christmas season.

We did not expect
Financial troubles
Marital problems
Stress at work
College rejections
Fighting with the kids
Arguing with the parents

The tree didn't get decorated
Until December 21
The outdoor lights
Are still in boxes.
Advent was supposed to
Prepare us.
But we're not ready yet.

Christmas will always disappoint,
But the baby will not.

Christmas is a beginning.
Christmas is hope.

There is always hope in children.
They are the future.
Hope, most of all
Is in the child of God.

It is hope.
The "good part"
Is yet to come.

We plant seeds in Christmas
With the expectation of the future.
Jesus grew up,
Like babies do.
He changed the world.
He changed the individuals.

He fed the hungry
He gave sight to the blind
He comforted the beggars
He brought justice to the Temple
He taught his followers
He drove out the demons
He loved the sinners
He reached out to the outcasts

He lived with us
He walked with us
He loved us.

And we killed him.

But that wasn't going to stop the baby
The child we placed our hope in on Christmas.
He came back from the dead
And performed many miracles.

Then he left
But promised to return.
And so we wait
With the hope given to us
By a baby
On the most disappointing Christmas of all.

But he left us a gift
Not wrapped in paper and string
But fire.
He have us the Spirit
So that we'd have guidance and comfort
And we'd never be alone.
So we can act as he did.
We can feed the hungry,
We can comfort the beggars,
We can reach out to the outcasts.

And as they wait with the hope from the baby
We can give them the same gift
So they can continue the baby's work.

Christmas is disappointing
But the baby is not.
The baby is Jesus
And he gives us hope.
Of life and life beyond death
And of love for all people.
For then, for now,
And forever.

Its as if you have been captured
by a terrifying but manipulating beast
and every time you begin to escape
its suffocating grasp
it secures you in its hands once again

It gets to the point
where you become so tired of trying
you stop
what's the point?
it is stronger than you are

You're so tired, the idea of putting in an effort
to escape the evil clutch of this pain
seems an impossible concept
all you want to do is rest
rest until one day, the beast will pass
dragging your soul along behind it

You become so used to the pain
sometimes you unravel your skin
with a blade crafted from iron
just to convince yourself that you can still feel
some sort of hurt, because the beast has battered you
so severely, you are certain you can no longer feel a thing

Or we cause harm in other ways
creating bruises instead of cuts, or fierce burn marks
as a way of trying to seek help, as the beast will not let us ask
in anyway other way, he has banished our voices, our sense of self
and to break the spell, first we have to break free

Days become better
Days become bitter
Last month I was happy
This month I am unkind.
The fog steals me away.

When the days are good
I wonder to myself
"When will it start slipping?
I know too well it is coming soon."

Then morning comes
And I feel a slight fog
insidiously creeping
darkening my mind.

Suddenly the sun doesn't shine as bright.
Suffocating air catches in my throat
And my heart is an awful weight in my chest.
on the verge of exploding,
Thumping harder.
Pumping bad blood.
Hot and sick.

All I have to do is open my eyes to see
that things are not what they should be,
And an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness
blankets me in my own disappointments.

Soon enough the days will become brighter.
It will be easier to live in my skin,
And the fog will ebb out.
But I know it hasn't disappeared.
The fog is just waiting.
It will be back.