Magic And Miracles

‘You’re a big liar!’ Niece to my brother. ‘You said the tooth fairy was true!’

‘But you asked me again and again and again. What was I supposed to do?’

Stomped off to her room, stormed out in a huff,

Back minutes later, still not at all chuffed.

 

‘What about Santa? Is he a big fake?’

‘I can’t answer this. The truth you can’t take.’

‘I can! I can! I want to know! Is it Santa that comes or just you?’

‘Weeelll…..Santa’s a story to make things exciting but mum and I make your wishes come true.’

 

‘I hate you! You’re mean! And so is my mum! Why did you spoil it for me?’

‘You begged for the truth, now can’t take it. It’s all magic, like the Christmas tree.’

Some fair time later, niece reappears, eyes narrowed, a pout on her lips,

Staring at brother with such great intent, legs akimbo, hands on her hips.

 

‘So, Jesus, then. Is that all a story to make a little girl good?

Did you make him up too to keep me in check? It’s a conspiracy in the whole neighbourhood!

I’m stamping my feet ‘cos I’m angry at you. And at mum. You both make me sick!

Lying to me and both of my brothers. Is that what you do for your kicks?!’

 

‘Now, calm down sweetheart. Sit while I speak and the truth I’ll offer to you.

If you can take it then you’ve done some growing. Will you listen? Calmly? Please do.’

Sat on the sofa, still pursing lips but a questioning look in her eyes,

A pleading for sense in dreams all distorted. And new hope so she would not despise

 

Her parents and life and all those around her who promised then laughed in your face.

At ten, such a burden, to question the all then discover that words may be laced

With hurt so acute it’s a physical sore

An ache deep inside, right through to the core.

 

‘Now here is the truth. I want you to listen. Say naught till I’ve finished then ask

Any and all questions you may have. This, your poor daddy’s task.

All you’ve been told is real for a while,

Magic ensues. It all made you smile.

 

Fairies in myth and Santa in legend, unicorns from stories you’ve heard,

Monsters in lochs, aliens on planets. Some just exist in your head.

Most is imaginative and feeds little children. Adults wish they could hold fast

To all that you’ve heard from me and your mother. We wish the magic could last.

 

But time takes its toll and friends tell you snippets and magic begins to erode.

But never doubt Jesus, I’ve never lied about that. He is the son of our God.

He fills you with magic more real than a story, an infusing of God’s Holy Spirit

And miracles are better than magic, I tell you. God gives them without any limit.

 

I’d ask for your trust to return to your soul, your belief in things we can’t see.

God gives that faith. It’s a gift, my darling. A gift that’s pouring through me.

I’ve no more to say except that I love you with a love that knows no real end.

It comes from the source of all that’s created. Jesus, my sweet, is your friend.

 

And He is mine, you’d better believe it. I couldn’t do this all by myself.

Your hurt hurts your father, I bleed when you bleed, I feel what you feel. You’re me.’

Runs up to hug him, to wipe away tears. To comfort the father, no less.

‘It’s ok, my daddy. I get what you’re saying. It’s all true and still magic. God bless.’

 

Well, Mark, not at all what I was expecting. But who knows the mysteries of nightly meanderings? 😉

The Pieta

The Pieta (4-1-08)

Awkward and too heavy,

Sprawled across a knee too small,

Lying precariously

And ungainly.

Ready to fall again,

Even after death.

The Pieta.

What have I done? a mother asks.

What have they done to you?

Why do they hate you so?

To torture your body

And my heart and mind?

And yet the knowledge was ever there.

A sword will pierce your heart.

Did she know exactly how?

Does she look resigned to the facts

She could only have been half aware of?

One hand lies loose,

Not holding on to the prone figure.

Not cuddling, as a mother would, an infant.

Resigned she may be;

For the face knows more than the two figures show.

The broken man is broken only in body.

His spirit lives

And sets us free.

She knows this but still her heart is heavy

For the child and the man –

The physical being she has lost –

Only to return ,

Physically and spiritually,

In glory and splendour.

Her honour –

An assumption into heaven-

Without death.

Having carried the one

Who carried

The burdens of the world

She sits in glory.

With the Father

And the Son

And the Holy Spirit.