Sandra Heska King

daring to open doors

Seed of Yahweh

By

I’ve been thinking about this seed of Yahweh

conceived in love, planted in the cave of a woman-child,

confined and nurtured in soft dark womb,

nourished with her every heartbeat.

How cells of cell multiplied until he fluttered light,

then stretched and rose like yeast bread in her warm belly,

until her body could no longer contain him.

How the walls closed in, contracted, kneaded,

and she pushed him down that painful passage toward the light,

how with gush of blood and water he slid wet into the night,

and she laid that Light of lights in a cold stone trough.

Whose hands touched him first, this Son of man?

His earthly father’s?

Those of a midwife?

Did his parents count his perfect fingers–

the fingers of God himself?

I think about those baby hands that fisted around their fingers,

that held their hands as he grew in wisdom and in stature,

about those hands that maybe planted seeds in soil,

shaped wood, chiseled stone,

touched ad healed and held a scroll,

fingers that wrote in dirt.

How one day he, that Llght of lights,

staggered down another narrow painful passage,

toward the darkness, pummeled and pushed by

hands of others as his own slivered palms quivered

with the weight of a heavy wooden cross.

How he was stretched wide, this bread of life.

how this one whose hands pounded nails to build

accepted pounded nails meant to break Creator by created,

and how his Mary’s heart exploded

with the pain of it and for the love of him.

I think of how his own limp body could not hold him,

and ow with gush of blood and water he slipped his earthly life,

how Mary may have counted and caressed

and kissed those blood-stained fingers.

I think about this seed of Yahweh,

this Son of man, planted in a cave of earth,

confined to cold dark stone,

until the tomb could not contain him,

how he stretched and rose, this bread of life,

and how he comes to us still and plants himself in our stone cold hearts,

becomes our heartbeat for the love of us.

So our hearts explode with the pain of it and the love of him.

And we cannot contain him.

I scrub my hands with purest soap,
then join hands with the others in the great circle,
dancing around your altar, God,
Singing God-songs at the top of my lungs,
telling God-stories. ~Psalm 26:6-7 (Message)

Joining Faith Barista, Bonnie, today as she asks what character in the Christmas story is speaking to us.

Also walking with Ann and spilling crumbs with Emily.


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Comments

  4. Joanne Norton says

    I agree with Susie’s comment. Mine would have headed the same direction. For someone who’s struggling with Christmas physically and emotionally, your spirit is focused on your dear Father and His life-changing Son.

  5. Cindee Snider Re says

    Oh, Sandy…wow! Words that leave me speechless, breathless, words that are…every one…as Susan said, a gift. Thank you, beautiful soul, for words that stir and soak deep. Love!

  8. diana says

    Oh, Sandy. This – this is magnificent, every single syllable. This one took deep thinking, careful choosing, prayerful layering. Thank you so, so much. Oh, just so much.

  9. Nancy Kourmoulis says

    Amazingly, painfully beautiful. In the reading The Spirit gives an ah-ha moment. He is teaching me that through pain I stretch, rise unable to contain Jesus because grace lifts and He must increase. Thank you for being His vessel this morning.

  11. Patricia says

    These words flowed from the Spirit of God right through your fingers to touch us… to bless us… from the hand of God himself. Sandy, I love you.

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