brown pinecone beside candle lantern
Photo by Jessica Lewis on

After many months of writing, I’ve decided to release some of my poems. They are vulnerable, real, and raw, but would you expect any less? I hope these posies help you feel something today. Joy, sorrow, a twinge of nostalgia. Anything. And then, I pray that you let them be felt.

For those who struggle at Christmas:

All Around Me
“If Christmas is all around me, why is Christmas hard to find?”

Solemn slumber.
Soft snow falling on open plains of harvested wheat and barley.
Frost on treetops glisten like tears rolling down faces.
Perhaps the bitter air matches my bitter heart.

Because this year, Christmas just hasn’t felt like Christmas.
My passion—gone.
My enthusiasm—discarded.
My joy—disappeared.
And I wonder, where is Christmas?

Our lit up trees mask how I’m truly feeling inside.
Buddy the Elf’s home would never be the residency of someone so miserable, right?
Freshly baked cookies smell sweet, but taste sour when I eat them.
And surely Santa doesn’t come to visit anymore.

Maybe it’s the fact that I’m older, or maybe that I’m stressed beyond all belief— planning for a wedding, planning for a marriage, dealing with health diagnoses, trying to keep my sanity, trying to find my place in this world. Or maybe it’s because Christmas in and of itself was never created to make me happy, as much as I thought and wish it was.

Lights fade.
Trees die.
Decorations break.
Cookies get eaten.
Toys get old.
Holidays come and go.

But the Christ of Christmas?
He is eternal.
Steadfast. True.
The keeper of promises.
Even when we don’t feel like it.
Even when I’m sure He doesn’t feel like it.

The Christ of Christmas is not a season but a choice of eternity.
Not dependent on the snow (if it falls), Santa (if he comes), family members (if they arrive on time), or feelings of Christmas cheer (if they choose to show up).

For those longing to be seen at Christmas:

Christmas Eve
The weather outside is frigid.
Single digit temperatures dip into the negatives with the wind chill.
Level three closes roads and Christmas Eve Services.
It feels like Christmas.
But it also doesn’t.

I wonder if that’s how Mary felt the night Jesus was born.
I wonder if it was frigid.
I wonder if she was cold.
I wonder if she knew the warmth of her baby boy would not only comfort her soul, but the souls of the world.

What about Joseph?
Was he serving as a provider?
Was he acting as a comforter?
Did he hold his wife?
Did he hold his baby boy?

They expected a night like no other. Their Christmas felt like Christ, but it may not have felt like Christmas.

Agape, Amber