The Gift Means More

The Gift means more to me now, since I’ve seen blessed hope’s turned-tail run, faces known full on, now only from the rear, dark Hell holes of not living up, all night vigils of the silent soul’s cry, free fall from what I wanted to be.

The Gift means more to me now because I’m the inn keeper who’s out of room, and finds himself on his knees with the sheep in a Mother’s gaze at a time of star light rising and coming kings, glory choristers and shepherds, good-news stunned, and all the room in the universe.

The Gift means more to me now because I can finally see myself standing beside it – the contrast, the poverty, the need, the Silence, the Mercy, the Love.

The Gift means more to me now because I‘ve known and forgiven myself in the flesh and the “Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

The Gift means more to me now because He touched me, a man born blind, and now I see and tell it.

The Gift means more to me now because I’m giving it away.

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