2025 Christmas Poem

 

(written on New Year’s Eve)

 

Yet

 

I have not written it yet.

 

Put forth the words of a year,

Recalled the months in rear.

Printed out those memories dear.

 

Yet, I’ve done everything else expected of me.

 

Cards, gifts, décor and tree;

Gatherings, texting, and a wrapping spree.

Decided to host an afternoon tea.

 

I’ve eluded the poem, not feeling the vibe yet.

 

No wanting to dwell

For my eyes to swell

As I painfully retell.

 

I’ve not written it yet—

 

Because God had me wait

Until He spoke His Words of love over hate

Renewed that hope in a plan that is great.

 

~~~

 

Parents killing children, children murdering parents.

 

Floods swept up campers, and planes hit the ground,

Evil aiming guns and truth and innocence shot down.

Fires burned up whole towns. 

 

Infection settled in and gave us a scare. That One Word from the Psalm chapters gave rest.

 

My beloved lay silent but the machines--they drum,

Beeping and pumping, a constant hum,

“Where does my help come from?”

 

That rhetorical question asked in every scenario. Do you remember? Do you know?

 

“The Lord, the Maker of Heaven and earth.”

He answers and asks us to recall His birth

The Babe, the Man, the God who gave us worth.

 

“I have told you things in my Word for your peace.”

 

In this world there is trouble, depravity and hate

But Love is the answer to make our path straight.

Christ overcame sin and all its weight.

 

God answered prayer this year in grace and provision.

 

For what I care for, those close and adored,

In abundance and wisdom, a hope restored.

Sons and daughters will come back to You Lord.

 

Yet still, a great desire for the all to be calm. He’s not finished…yet.

 

God incarnate, a personal relationship.

The promised Messiah, victory over a death grip

Resurrected, forgiven, joy and grace in the hardship.

 

Just believe and ask Him to show You His truth.

 

Admit you’re in need; let go your own depravity and fears

God makes a way and holds all your tears.

Be born-again for eternity’s years.

 

That baby, Christmas, a choice made every day.

 

To live surrendered yet held captive in wonder,

To worship with His church in splendor,

To know I am loved by God, the Creator.

 

Good-bye to a year of trials and perseverance, miracles and growth; the known and unknown.

 

Yet I welcome the God who pursues.

And pray for His Will and a better attitude.

To hope, rejoice and reflect godly gratitude.

 

Yet, He waits.

 

Christmas 2023 Poem

The Divine Waltz

 

Wrought with pain, weary from thoughts

This whirlwind of days wrings me tight to drip

The tears of this divine destiny,

Of the weight carried--

All for Your Glorious Will.

I wish upon the stars

And wonder at the Heavens.

The world closes in;

I wrestle. You wrangle.

The Way is made.

When I consider the Heavens...

Lord, I hear your quiet whisper

Above my humble, heartbroken whimpers.

“Trust me,” even in this wreckage.

Grace-wrapping words for the wounds,

Will-submitting words to You, Father--

That will wage war with every soul.

 

Praying at the wake of dawn--

Weaving more threads into this story.

The waiting is real.

Waves wash over me.

Worthy—Worthy, the Lamb of God.

The watchful gather from the hills

The wise come to adore

You are named, Wonderful, Counselor,

Prince of Peace, Waymaker…

Together we warm-up

While the wicked conjure.

Who You are?  The Son of God--

 Messiah; what promise fulfilled!

Love unexplainable yet attainable

Wipes my slate clean.

Where? In my life, my heart.

My unworthiness made whole.

 

In the wear and tear of the waiting--

Walk with me Lord;

Ward off my will.

Wholeheartedly, I worship You

For whosoever believes,

Surrenders to the wooden Cross--

You Welcome Home, an eternal reward.

 

Double You.

Emmanuel, God With Us. 

And in that, Peace wedges in.

Hope winds tight around me.

Love strengthens my weakness

And the dance with the Divine is

A Waltz of Grace.

 

The Last Petal, a poetic thought from two perspectives of pain and hope.

 

The Last Petal

Two Perspectives

                                                        

Winter rain finally came. 

The dreary hangs over the already weary;

The drizzle, the drench

Does not quench --no foundation

Sinkholes, torrents on every side

Collide. 

 

Break thru the mist--

Prayers for absorption.

Promise of Spring

All things new. 

But it's the same old...

Why this low cloud pressure-

The puddles so blue? 

Need of a sunshine measure

To paint the rainbow smile

Always hope, right? 

I'll plant the seeds,

Grace, stay for more than awhile 

 

Love pulls her feet; let’s breathe together

Look. Listen. See. 

No rain weather.

Find it! Dear one

It's your life raft, Beloved...

 

I just want rest...

 

Closing in, each petal painfully plucked.

I see no beauty now, did I ever?

In Your Creation

“The moon and stars…” she reads

“I am so much more”...she insists.

Am I? 

The bath is drawn to once more 

Try and cleanse the infested.

And in the aftermath 

Of confusion and grief,

You and me memories will never be brief.

The deeper pool of promise

 Intentionally I submerge, 

 

Again and again

For God is good and merciful and true

Even in the last petal, 

Through this new quench of tears,

May Your Glory emerge. 

   Considerably yours,  Coleene   

SUICIDE AND CRISES LIFELINE DIAL 988   

...But in Your Righteous Way

Mourning Duskywing Butterfly 

 Upside down, at a rest,

Gravity pulling at me

Yet I cling to Your Radiance

Your sustenance.

And from the upside down

I can see more of You

Because there...

Here, in You, with You-- my focus

Attaches me to Your Spirit,

Your will.

Align me...Oh sovereign God.

Not with things of this world...

But in Your righteous Way

A silver lining in the pain

Drawn across my humanity

An identity of my mourning

A celebration of my Hope.

Amen

...And Then I Hear Him

I watch, holding my breath

Feeling both pain and overcoming joy.

His tiny features and newborn skin bond to my soul,

As I hold him so close, forever mine.

I ponder motherhood, an honorary role,

Intentional blessedness

So much to learn…

            And then I hear his cry,

            Prayers begin to yearn.

I watch as an angel appears before me

In the garden’s morning walk.

His magnificence shines and I am amazed at the sight.

He speaks words of purpose, a Holy Plan to be

I bow in awe and wonder as He speaks of Coming Light.

How God…why me?

            And then I hear him call me Favored One,

            Mary, so shall it be.

I watch as he grows and discovers,

Curiosity catapults and words articulate.

Motherhood is fun and hard, many surprises and delights.

Settled into somewhat routine

Jotting down memories, maybe some highlights.

The reality of life sets in

Detours appear,  Grace guiding us down the hard road

            And then I hear Him whisper…

            I will help carry your load.

I watch Him grow in wisdom and stature,

In favor with God and man.

Already set to do His Will , teaching

At the Temple, he stayed too long

Asking questions, listening, preparing for preaching…

Soon He would gather

The twelve Fisher’s of Men,

            And then I hear Him announce,

            “I’m about to begin.”

I watch him lay so still

That machine breathing in, breathing out.

Motherhood is love and hope, faith and…trust.

Prayers now in desperation

Oh, how I know God is a stronghold, a must,

As his spirit leaves,

To meet God on that night.

            And then I hear Him comfort me,

            “I promise to make this right.”

I watched Him as they mocked,

Spat at Him and lashed,

He walked with that Cross,

To the hill called Golgotha,  

And one hung alongside to believe

And one paid the cost.

Spikes driven, upright stood.

             And then I hear Him tell me,

            “Behold, your Son, this too will be good.”

I watched Him, again in the garden and beyond

My heart seeking more and longing for the Deeper Things.

His generously guided grace surrounds

To heal , infuse, purpose me

With the supernatural in and around.

I miss him so, it is true,

But the promises are Eternal…

            And then I hear Him give me

            A purpose, for the time here, external.

I watched Him as He died, prepared Him for that tomb

But on that third day, God’s preparation completed the Plan.

All the wrongs in the world hung with Him that day

For He Is God’s Son you see, the final Sacrificial Lamb

Overcoming death and sin, in the blood-price He paid.

Confess your need

Give Him your heart

            And then you’ll hear Him tell you

            I love you My child, and I will never depart.

 Considerably Yours,

Merry Christmas

Coleene 

In Memorium, Sarah Hutson

In the very beginning Aspiring Writers’ Forum or A.W.F. as we like to call ourselves, formed a bond amongst the members who transformed the table on Wednesday nights, sharing our thoughts in written word, our days in anecdotal stories and our hopes in words and imagined dreams of the glory and grace surrounding us. Our friend, Sarah Hutson sat amongst us in those first couple of years.  With a genuine wit, she always made us laugh.

When I think of Sarah, I think of a spunky, young, single mom, with a huge heart for her family, her job, and especially her son, Gavin. She possessed many talents involving theater art, something she thought she might pursue as a career, but God led her down another path, one she also succeeded in, encompassing both her intellect, her loving spirit and “family.” Employed as a social worker, specifically, she walked children and hopeful couples through the foster and adoption process, a gift of patience, insight and long hours, she saw the fruition of many hopes and dreams. 

Sarah did all this fighting cancer, fighting for her own life, her own future but in that she trusted God wholeheartedly, as she herself proclaimed her adoption into God’s family.

In early summer, God gave me an impromptu way to serve Sarah, and I am so blessed to have had the opportunity to give her a ride home from church one warm Sunday afternoon. We talked a lot and it wasn’t idle chit-chat. I asked her a few questions I just wanted to know.  I felt comfortable enough around her to inquire and she shared in transparency, she shared humbly, she shared with her hopes and dreams still attached. My heart swelled in thankfulness for this dear, strong woman, my friend, who in her frail and painful state, encouraged me, made me laugh and believe even more that God’s plans are good and that light shines in and through the darkness.  As I pulled up to her house, I held her hand and we prayed together, one last time.

In those first few months of AWF, we did a crazy thing. (Somehow, I think Sarah helped move this idea forward). Putting together stories of unique perspectives from the Christmas Story, an Advent book came together. A collaborative effort, Sarah contributed three stories. I chose to share one of them here, “The Shepherdess.” I am reminded of my friend, a shepherdess in her own way, leading lost little lambs to forever families, telling cheerful and funny stories while waiting and watching in darkness over those things she loved so dearly. Thank you Sarah, for pointing out the glorious lights in heaven with your shining courageous Spirit and for inspiring us all with your faithful, unrelenting hope in a Greater Shepherd who comforts us now in our tears and our memories.

In love and gratitude,  Rest in Peace my friend,

Considerably yours, 

Coleene VanTilburg

Sarah and her son Gavin

The Shepherdess

By Sarah Hutson

Angels, that’s what she heard. That’s what awakened Deborah and her family. Even her unborn child seemed alert and moving. At first, she thought she was dreaming, but when she looked around she saw other shepherds waking from their huddled groups and staring at the sky. A sky alive with color and movement that swirled together to form heavenly figures. The sky filled with the messengers of heaven. The air itself crackled around Deborah and an unseen force drew her and her loved ones to their feet.

“Be not afraid,” the angels said. “Unto you a Savior is born, go and worship Him.”

“We are mere shepherds, the lowest of the village,” Deborah said to her husband. “Why would a Savior be born for us? What right do we have to worship at His feet?”

Her husband drew her close, “I too am afraid; but they have told us to go to the Child and bear witness of His birth. I do not understand why we have been chosen, but I will obey.”

The call of the angels overcame the fears of her mind, and they began to walk toward Bethlehem. Her hesitant, doubtful steps    began to hasten. Those around her seemed to be walking faster as well; some even began to run. She moved quickly through the streets, and her husband reached out to help steady her. When he took her hand, she was surprised to find him shaking. And when she looked into his eyes, she found them filled with love.

They were told to follow the star, but they were led by something deep in their souls. They filled the dark, silent streets, searching for the newborn King. She wondered why the whole town was not awake to see the Savior, and she realized that the first glimpse of this precious Gift was meant for them.

She expected to find the Child in a fine inn or a wealthy home, some place suitable for a king. Instead she found a young mother and proud father holding a Child wrapped in rough swaddling cloths. They huddled together in an old stable on the outskirts of town. Deborah knew they had found what they were looking for. The brightest star in the sky shone down on the stable, like a beacon in the night guiding a lost ship safely home. She felt her unborn child move and she rubbed her stomach lovingly. It was then that she realized this young girl’s Child was born to save her children. He was born to save the world, now and for all the generations to come. The weight of that realization brought her to her knees, and she wept with tears of joy.

In the dark of the night, the Light of the World was born and the most humble amongst them became this miracle’s witness.

Go Fund Me for Sarah Hutson and family

https://www.gofundme.com/sarah039s-memorial-amp-her-son039s-care