God has given me the gift of words and for that I am grateful. But even greater is the gift of silence. The absence of words. The presence of grace.

This morning coffee and a chocolate savored slowly. Reading one of John Fox’s poems while inhaling the scent of a bar of soap given to me for Christmas.

Blessings arrive right on time. Never too early or too late. Recognized more by their language of going beyond words. Curve and scent.

Christmas brings me to my knees. Fatigue filters through the winter light and I am saturated with silence.

The candle burns on and the wick is often wicked. It catches goodness on fire and the ashes rain down.

We look at the earth as seen from space. Nothing more beautiful or sacred. And we kill, kill, kill because we are not yet fully human.

Mercy is all we share. Mercy is all we need. Blind and unheeding we injure everything we would love.

The Christ in us is awakening and the first thing He sees is wickedness and so he shows it to us. And now we wish to change, to repent, to fall on our knees, maybe for the first time. But not the last.

And the cynics and the hardened minds will never hear the holy bells inside the opening heart. And the world unwinds until eternity takes over and we all see with the same eye.

Vicki Woodyard