A Link for Come and See & Another Advent Poem

Advent Greetings!

Thanks to to the women of Blanchard Road Alliance Church in Wheaton, IL for a lovely luncheon. For those of you who couldn't make it, and want to listen to the talk; here's a link for you:

http://www.blanchardalliance.org/uploads/01%2009_1205_SallyMiller.mp3

The talk is also available on FaceBook:

"http://www.facebook.com/l/ed226;www.blanchardalliance.org/uploads/01%2009_1205_SallyMiller.mp3"

Without the glorious music by Rochelle Streeter and team, the delicious food, and the inspiring setting (including a Power Point by Joyce Kerns featuring images of baby Jesus), the magic and celebration of the morning is missing. Still, perhaps (if you have a few minutes to listen), you'll receive word of hope and healing and beauty out of pain during this season of waiting.

While I'm here, I'll offer another advent poem. This one's by my favorite poet, Luci Shaw.

The Overshadow

" . . . the power of the Most High will overshadow you . . . " -Gospel of Luke

When we think of God, and
angels and the Angel,
we suppose ineffable light.

So there is surprise in the air
when we see him bring to Mary,
in her lit room, a gift of darkness.

What is happening under that
huge wing of shade? In that mystery
what in-breaking wildness fills her?

She is astonished and afraid; even in
that secret twilight she bends her head,
hiding her face behind the curtain

Of her hair; she knows that
the rest of her life will mirror
this blaze, this sudden midnight.

Come and See: A Fresh Look into the Manger

This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.

Luke 2:12

If you're going to be in the Wheaton, IL area this coming Saturday you may want to stop by Blanchard Road Alliance Church. I'll be speaking there at a Women's Christmas Lunch.

Some information follows:

Women's Christmas Lunch
Saturday, December 5, 2009
10:00 a.m. - 12:00 noon
Blanchard Alliance Church
1766 S. Blanchard, Wheaton

For more information, check out the event at the Blanchard Road website: http://www.blanchardalliance.org/pages/page.asp?page_id=15446

Come join me for a relaxed morning of friendship, music of the season and a heart-warming, eye-opening message as we take a Fresh Look into the Manger.

Advent Poems

LOVE
Advent is one of my favorite times of year. The days get shorter, colder, covered in a secretive darkness and some days, in snow. We learn to live with the Mystery of the moment and the Darkness of the day, hoping and expecting more Mystery and longing for Light to come (knowing that Light will come, has come).

This year, as we wait and hope for Christmas, I'll be posting some of my favorite poems of the season here. Hopefully the words will companion and help you as you wait.

Today's offering is by Judith Bingham. Advent blessings to you and yours! Enjoy!

Epiphany

Deep midwinter, the dark centre of the year,
Wake, O earth, awake
Out on the hills a star appears,
Here lies the way for pilgrim kings,
Three magi on an ancient path,
Black hours begin their journeyings.

Their star has risen in our hearts,
Empty thrones, abandoned fears,
Out on the hills their journey starts,
In dazzling darkness God appears.

The Word Girls Website

The Word Girls website is up and running! Please come visit us at: http://www.thewordgirls.com/. Thanks!

Introducing The Word Girls Writing Studio

This summer, my dear friend Cheri Mueller (who happens to be a great writer & editor) and I are launching The Word Girls Writing Studio. Our online Writing Studio is a place where writers at any step on their writing journey - from idea to publication - can come for help, encouragement, advice, mentoring and editing services. In creative, inspired, helpful and professional ways, we invite writers to take a seat on our cyber red couch and get the help and mentoring they need to have success with their writing.

Currently, our Word Girls Blog, http://thewordgirls.blogspot.com/, featuring writing tips, quotes and other writing helps is available. It's our complimentary service for burgeoning writers. Other services that entail brief or lengthy visits to our big red couch include: chapter by chapter editing, help writing queries or book proposals, and mentoring that encourages writers to hone their craft. These offerings can be accessed at our Word Girls Writing Studio website. This site is nearing the end of construction. As soon as it is available, I'll post the address here.

In the meantime, visit the red couch that's our blog. Leave us a comment. Tell us what you're looking for if you're a writer; and pass word of our services on to any aspiring writers you know. Thanks!

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THE WORD GIRLS: Sally Miller & Cheri Mueller

Sea Glass . . . See Glass, a poem

See Glass

It begins with

a broken

cast off

Piece of Jagged

love

Broken and Lost

love

Alone in cold tumult

tossed and polished

brandished by weather and time

and crash of wave

love

Sanded with sand

Returning home to

shore like a triumphant,

sopping wet heroine

at journey's end

resting amongst

rocks and gull feathers

fish bones, dried, hollowed

light as air and holey

love

The Little Boy

(like an editor

scouring slush piles

for the next bestseller

or just something good)

tender footed

on precarious rocks, sand,

tangles of seaweed

sees a dulled sparkle of glass

knowing it by patina

love

greedily he collects the smoothed

shard in warm cupped palm:

a treasure

born of loss

and much tumbling

Nest Watcher

Nest Watcher

I.

Blackbird struts into my yard:
cocky, arrogant, a delinquent breaking curfew,
breaking law, ready to break an egg or mother’s heart
yellow eyes full with nefarious intent
glow against iridescent head feathers

Father robin positions himself
between Blackbird and Mother robin
who sits on throne of daily turned, warm, ready eggs

I (who have watched the nest building,
the laborious laying of four indescribably blue eggs,
the patient vigilant incubation)
am sickened when a gang of hungry
invincible blackbirds joins the first

Running into the yard I clap and shout
and scare off the predators
they take flight, fleeing the scene
in clumsy reverse of choreographed confetti

Inside I worry that I’ll not have the fortitude,
or time, freedom, omnipresence or unthwartable maternal love
to keep vigil over this nest
I worry that the robins cannot go it alone

A cliché in cross stitch, hanging beside my front door
temporarily comforts: God watches over every nest.


II.

Later that week the hatchlings are born
pink fresh like a spring peony,
as delicate and vulnerable
I’m elated, a viable successful midwife to birds
Mother and Father robin appear
anthropomorphically and really proud

The Blackbird returns

Alerted by Mother and Father robins’ squawks,
I catch Blackbird looming large on nest edge
hunched to dine and dash
air breaks with the swoop of black wings
and the nest is full of emptiness

Where are you Nest Watcher?
my soul screams already maddened, jaded, cynical from
middle aged, never-hatched, personal disappointments
and losses illuminated by the sight of soft
grass and hair with not an egg to tuft


III.

It is quiet and feather free at my front door
the robin parents are gone

From the Alberta pine I remove the abandoned nest
which is well made, a piece of natural art in my hands
I set the nest on my fireplace mantle
and remember the robins, Blackbird

For a second I want to shake a fist
at the Nest Watcher, but
my infuriation at the watcher’s impotence has mellowed,
crashed into the acquiescence of acceptance

I pour a cup of coffee
and sit in my favorite chair to consider the intricacies of
nest watching (and the food chain)

A familiar grackle pierces my ponderings
I look out the window
There is Blackbird
bending over nest with squirmy meal hanging out of beak

For the first time I wonder who it is who watches
Blackbird’s Nest

A Father's Love

Father's Day is this Sunday.

This holiday is joyful for some; and can be difficult for others. On this day we mourn the fathers we have lost to death. We mourn the fathers some of us never had because of their physical absence or their absence due to alcoholism or workaholism. We celebrate the ways we were loved by dads who played catch with us, read us bedtime stories, wrestled with us on the carpet in our family rooms.

Whether you're celebrating or mourning this Sunday, receive the following letter as a gift of grace and truth:

Dearest One,

You are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are mine. I call you by my name. I love you with an everlasting love.

I see you. I know you; and I care about even the tiniest details of your life. When times are tough, know that I know. Know that I am collecting your tears in a bottle.

When times are good, I rejoice and celebrate your successes along with the angels in heaven. You matter to me.

You are the reason I hung the stars in place, made halibut and hummingbirds, seals and sunsets, meadows and the moon.

I am vast and wondrous and wise. I am also close to you, watching each and every step you take, present to you morning, noon and night. Trust my love for you. Know that I am always near, as close as your breath as constant as your heartbeat.

Trust that I know what’s best for you and that I’ll work everything in your life together for good. I’m a master planner, just like a good quilter who knows just where to put each piece: the light and the dark, the rough and the smooth.

Most importantly, know that you are the apple of my eye, the joy of my heart. Nothing I desire compares with you.

I love you!

Your father,

God