Consecration at Christmas, by Janean Justham

A Christmas guest post. For more by Janean, please see her blog, myopinionasanobody.blogspot.com/ .

Consecration at Christmas

Bring your words, your penciled sketch,
Your spot-on imitations.
Belt your high notes, sob your low tones.
Offer up your turtle doves,
Your baked goods and that dish you love.
Bring your fever and your aching bones,
Your excesses and hesitations.
Come, let’s go now and see this.  Stretch
Out your hands, your arms, your feet,
Your clear emboldened voices.
Present Him with your graceful twirls,
Your triumphs and your tumblings,
Your bad hair day, your stumblings,
Your bruises and your golden curls,
Your brave acts and bad choices.
Hasten to Him in a heartbeat.

Swirl over Him purple and fine linens.
Lift your bow, spill notes into the air.
Bring the wrongs you want forgiven,
Your scarlet cheek, your trembling chin.
Lay down your purity and your burning sin.
Place them where a Son is given.
Bring your bed, your favorite chair,
Your Christmas doll with blue hair ribbons.
Bring your handshake, bring your smile,
Your raised eyebrow and tear-filled prayer,
Your broken heart, your dark thoughts.
Bring your eyes, bring your ears.
Bring your laughter and your tears,
Your spark of faith and thickened plots,
Your best red coat and stained underwear.
Throw them all into the pile.

Share your flying dreams and nightmares,
That time you couldn’t sit, for joy,
That time you couldn’t sing, for grief,
That time you hiked through boot-high snow,
The time you made love in the meadow,
That time you groaned for pain relief,
The first view of your newborn boy,
Your demons and your crippling cares.
Under the starlight rests a spectacle.
Bring your learning and your questions,
Bring your hunger, bring your thirst.
Play for Him your best drum solo.
Give Him your yacht. Give Him your yoyo,
Your saved-up seeds, your mound of earth,
Your sacrifices and obsessions.
He’ll know the truth though men are skeptical.

Show up at the manger.
Press into His tiny hand
Your one pearl of great price.
Spread on Him your spicy ointment.
Bring your hopes and disappointment,
Your fancy cupcake, your grain of rice.
Show him your beloved, and
Bring a neighbor, bring a stranger.
Wear your finest gown.
Wear your holey jeans.
Bring your sleepless nights, your mornings.
Throw in your last little mite,
Your secret treat and appetite,
Your computer and your earnings,
Your new car and your magazines.
Lay all your treasures down.

Dance your dance, plie, kick high.
Toss in your wedding ring.
Unclench your pearls; let go!
Bring your children, bring your grandpa,
Your worst mistake and all your chutzpah,
Your needle and your hoe,
Your bird with broken wing,
Your full lamp and the one that’s dry,
Your foul ball and your tall cold drink,
Your pie crust and your burnt toast,
Your home run and your brush-off.
Don’t hide your broken frame,
Your favorite game, your foot that’s lame,
Your sunburn or your cough.
Bring the thing you fear the most.
It’s more important than you think.

Shower on Him dreams and discoveries.
Loose that bird flapping in your chest.
Give your finest gold and friendship yarn,
The part of the puzzle you’ve completed,
The times you found you were defeated,
The pants you know will not be worn,
Your unrequited love and emptied breasts,
The chips you earned in your recovery.
Share your ripe peach and scraps of fabric,
Your fine china and your daily mug,
The swan gliding on your placid lake.
Show the shining of your well-scrubbed floor,
The pastel laundry you folded into the drawer
Before your baby was awake,
Your masterpiece and braided rug.
Carry it all into the magic.

Bring feed for His lambs and for His sheep–
Milk, honey, and your stored-up wheat,
The brilliant flashings of your mind,
Your favorite ornament, though broken,
The needed words you left unspoken,
The thank-you notes you never signed.
Lay all burdens at His feet.
He’ll smooth the bad; the good He’ll keep.
Bring chocolate cake, your guacamole,
The letting go of someone’s hand,
The bearing of a small, dark corpse,
Your hatred and your acts of mercy,
Your dog-bone in the controversy,
Your expulsion from the workforce,
The struggling, post-stroke, to stand.
He’ll shape them into something holy.

Tell him of the thing you’re craving,
Your discipline and your compulsion.
Bring your pet and your tormentor,
Your fire-scarred limbs and patchwork quilt,
The house you built, the milk you spilt.
Give it all to your Creator:
The light that draws you, your revulsions,
That ragged spot you missed while shaving,
The rhymes you’ve worked, what you think plausible,
Your confusion and your rages,
The dusty miles you had to walk.
Your finest gifts for consecration;
The ugliness for your redemption,
For: from this stinky hole in the rock
Springs the bejeweled shrine of ages,
Where miracles abound, and anything is possible.