In this season of frosty leaves, warm cosy jumpers and twinkly lights. There is Advent.
My song in this season is whispered more than shouted. It’s a song that’s mine to sing. It may not be like yours.
I gather in words like some gather recipes. My words are my song.
Rise, quietness, joy, breathe, steadfastness, small, precious, and grief they string together like pearls.
Gathering in the Christmas story, the joy to the world, the silent night. The star of hope and peace. I scoop them up the word notes and consider afresh the impact of one who is wonderful, counsellor, mighty God, Everlasting Father Prince of peace. It’s the very reason to rise and sing my song.
The spirit of Truth comes into our world, quietly, in a stable he begins a story doing things in unexpected ways .
We cannot measure or define. We consider Him as the verse says who took on a clothed humanity bursting into society challenging and bringing salvation to a thirsty generation.
We thirst still
Rise, to drink again this advent of the water of life.
I Sing my song
The Fathers song for me