At the Bottom of the Year: Poems

Each Advent season is new. Those most recent have been tumultuous: COVID, bitterly cold snows, visionaries speaking frankly of a coming apocalypse. But other things as well: our own issues, the creeping age factor, the death of loved ones. Advent, like a creaking old metal gate, corrects us every time. It lets us know that only one thing matters: the stable, that little crib where cows chewed hay. Children, and childlike adults, still find all the consolation they need there. We wait for a Jesus who only does joyous endings, whose glory is in that star, in snowy fields--in those who have passed on, and in those who will. These poems celebrate the sweetness of His coming, His presence. We must learn to be still, to wait for and with the One who gives us Life. Praise Him.

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