The Gift
The Gift
I find myself (as I do every Christmas) thinking back to a
special lady who always made Christmas so loving. There was
one gift I always remember and treasure is the one from
Grandma.
She was old and retired. She was living on a very limited
income. Each Christmas she would set up a tree no taller than
2 feet. It was artificial and set on a little table covered with cotton
from old boxes replicating snow.
She would take the little money she had and buy each of her
grandchildren hose for the girls and socks for the boys. Even
today I remember her going to the little tree. Her hands had
become old with swollen joints and trembled just a little as
she picked up the little gift wrapped in thin paper from the year
before. There was always a thin ribbon, usually red tied to the
gift. Handing me the little gift, she would say, “It’s not much.” I
would always smile to her and say, “Grandma, you have no idea
how much I needed hose.” She would smile and sit next to the
little tree. Today that gift keeps giving back to me. It was love.
The Journey
Dark and bleak the days become,
Mother and child still are one.
They seek shelter for the night
against the cold weather’s fright.
A manger, a stable, they find by grace.
In the night, their stay finds pace
to birthing pains inside the shed.
Labor and love defies world’s dread.
Where infant cries break the sounds
all kings and shepherds seek to surround,
as star reflects hope and the son,
God enters the world among
on this our Christmas Day…
© CMM 2015
Whispered Prayer
Produced/written by: Christine McNeill-Matteson
Music Composed /Performed by: Kip Haaheim
Vocalist/ Katie Bieber
Mosaic Run
I run
you run
we run
it does not matter
we run
it is
a part of a few
who know
it is true
it is
life…
Fallen Color
Seasons golden, rustic colors
shed from the aged old tree.
I lean in against the scaly bark
smell the age of autumn’s passing
I feel the leaves falling freely kaleidscope
around the warmth of the breeze.
I step gingerly at the base of roots grounded by time,
pigmented color, bark’s earthy smell.
Feeling the gifts of nurtured ground and holy soil
a symphony of change begin to swell.
I am brought to the awareness of time,
and the treasures it bares.
© CMM 2015
Silver Trail ( a runner’s reflections)
The clouds hung close
the silver river view
the sun shines timid
I run past the hue
of late Autumn
and misty day
I sure my feet
Into the way
bringing me home
while I pray…
Autumn Run
The RUN
I gather grit
I gather me
A day of solitude
a day succeed
Stones and pebbles
in my path
mud and slides
become my wrath
I listen to my body
labors to go on
I do not stop
the road is long
My head is leading
through the race
my legs continue
to keep the pace
Times I feel faint
and others strong
but I did endure
I did belong.
© CMM 2015
Half Marathon
(13.2 Battery went dead on my run)
Autumn
Our weather is turning — our clocks will change.
Life will get shorter and time rearrange.
We will fade and the children will take their turn,
watching life pass and working to earn.
Only to be where we are now,
no slower no faster with reflections somehow.
© CMM 2015
Eagle and Child Inkling 