Waif of a tree, bare, unadorned,
Planted in earth, dry and worn,
Still its leaves glisten, in golden light,
Kissed by His sun, its soul burns bright.
Anawim (Hebrew, pronounced ann-a-weem) refers to the poor who keep faith in God even in hard times.
What will your Christmas be like,
When at last the tree turns to dry?
Beyond plain sight, the spirit hides,
Give to the poor, those lonely inside.
This task attend, on this longest night,
And while it must die,
Your tree lives bright.
December 21, 2013
The wandering years, taking toil,
Ideals worn thin, little the spoils,
Pleading now, the spirit’s request,
A home and tree, pride laid to rest.
From the ancient past, witnessing.
The dark days of Man’s mortal damning.
To that hour,
His glorious redeeming.
“The God of our ancestors raised Jesus, though you had him killed by hanging him on a tree.”
~ Acts 5:30
Doubts rising, faith drying,
The world cries out for blood,
Then the Saviour takes our trembling hand,
Not to His open wounds,
like Thomas, to attest,
Only to lay upon His breast.
Feeling His soothing lullaby,
Our fainting hearts
“Thomas, called Didymus (Greek for Twin) one of the Twelve, …”
~ John 20:24
Autumn leaves come alive,
Oddly in tropical clime.
School children walking by,
A warm spectrum upon them shines.
For like this tree,
God deemed it right,
Creating these kids
with special needs and likes.
So with a kinder eye,
Look beyond and deep,
Rainbows stir us to life!
When our tired senses fall asleep.
I have never seen this tree in autumn colours until yesterday November 13 just after midday. It is located on the sidewalk near the visitors’ entrance to the Rainbow Centre at Margaret Drive, Singapore, a school dedicated to the care of children with special needs including those with autistic spectrum disorder (Do visit their homepage at http://www.rainbowcentre.org.sg).
Disclaimer: This personal post in no way represents the views of the Rainbow Centre.
Be brave, little tree
My shadow is not your place.
He has issued his holy writ,
Your life’s adventure gathers pace.
With a willing spirit,
Lift that burden, heavy and coarse,
For with its drawing of our blood, our sap,
New life begins!
Salvation wrought through
“Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.”
Ever ready to advance his cause, the devil thoughtfully schemes the rot.
And what is just now a bruise to the ego, festers into a stinking sore upon the soul.
“For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood; but against principalities and power, against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places.”
~ Ephesians 6:12
Was God so callous as not to provide even the most basic creature comforts for His only Son when it came time for His birth?
No warm room at the inn.
No midwife attending.
Just a bare and rough manger in which animals found shelter as night fell.
But yet, what manner of crib was chosen in which Our Lord could snuggle and bury his face as he slumbered?
Simply, it was Mary’s elbow, whose inviting hollow beheld God, and kept Him safe and warm on that most humble of nights.
“While they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
~ Luke 2:6-7
Feast of St Luke
18 October 2013