Before Christmas
there was Christ.

Before the sleigh.
Before the conifers.
Before candles.
Before the paper decor.
Before Christmas became
about lesser gifts.
Before basted turkeys
and Santa myths.
There was Christ.

Before he became the suffix
to the festive.
Before he became less Christ
and more Chris.
Before we suppressed his divinity
and took away his dignity.
Before we replaced him
with a capital merry Me.
There was Christ.

Before Christmas, Christ gifted himself
and took the part that was key
to making a mercy path back
(by way of a much starker tree)
to His eternal city.
Where the crowns aren’t paper.
Where the feast lasts longer.
Where Christ is rightfully King.
That’s where the true party will begin.

Lord of life,
Lord of breeze, of warmth and softest light
Lord of song and answered cries
Lord of long days and sleepless nights

Lord of rest
Lord of this sacred space to reflect
Lord of this gifted stillness
I confess you caught my breath

Lord of promise
Lord who gifted this anointed child
Lord of mercy, of goodness
I weep in the sheen of this just-fed smile

I breathe a quiet celebration (lest they waken)
and marvel at this wondrous sight
I wonder at this crowning moment
and whisper thanks for this new life

I pledge my life to raise my child
to teach the wonders of your kingdom
I surrender now, done and done
and pray they grow in strength and wisdom

I thank you, Lord, for this new life
and wonder again in mid-elation
how Mary contained her cradled delight
while swaddling the first-born of your new creation

Not too rushed
Timed to perfection
Esmee defies
accepted convention

Highly acclaimed
Deeply loved
Esmee embraces
a kiss and hugs

Deeply rooted
Highly adored
Esmee savours
her first long yawn

Her father's reach
Her mother's voice
Esmee combines
warmth and joy

In pride of place
At home at rest
Esmee sleeps
her family blessed

I sympathise
I suffer

I empathise
I feel

I identify
I reflect

Be like Pooh!
Gorge you way through
the gospel til you are full.
Relish its sweetness.
Feast on its goodness.
Let it so stain your lips
that your friends will insist
that your appetite is insatiable,
that you are incapable
of living any life
that is not fully sweetened
by the honey of the gospel.

How relaxed are you with the prospect
of the quiet that heralds her coming?
How comfortable are you
in her subtle company?
How much do you give her time,
make space for her conversation?
How slowed are you in her presence?
How attentive to her movements?
How attuned to her voice?
How empathetic are you
to her wanton sisters:
intuition and instinct and expansion?
If you are wise
you won't refuse them.

How do you like your tea?

I smiled.

Assam strong.
A dash of skinny milk.
And a view across the Thames.