Friday evening last, last thoughts untangle the budget for the week
and the schedule for the days. . .
then crawl me into soft big bed. . . lay me down under warm covers. . .
darling one, sleepy-eyed, her head on her daddy's pillow
(they made a sandwich of me the night before)
sings me Christmas coming O, Come Emmanuel and lullabies me We Three Kings
and the earth gentle spins, grinding old gears on its axis. . .
to tumble me from bed and here at table lit by promise
You are forgiven, little one. . .
comes the sad, sweet Voice . . .
knowing I still struggle to hear, believe, receive. . .fully. . . the Love.
He loves us, Beloveds! Oh. . .He loves us. . .
Prepare your worn out little heart.
Prepare to receive.