Come Anyway

Far from my first
Year yearning, pressing
Prepare room, rustle
Awake my sleepy soul

Snapping to, too late
Lagging as one seized
Shamed by the frenzy
Of a foe’s drubbing

Blushed, struck seeing
A visage true-shaped
Sharp similitude staring
Sullen, mulled over-down

I am not ready
There is no room

Yet you come, ready
Not pen-clicking, 
Reviewing wrongs
Down the nose, gnashing

You come anyway
Full well, knowing
And still loving until
Still slows me to center

Increasing where decreased
Gov’t growing only good
Zeal, peeling to pit
Resounding joy for the unready

This poem was written while reflecting on Isaiah 9:6-7, this episode of The Brothers Zahl podcast, and the liturgy and prompts in Every Moment Holy‘s 2023 Advent Journal. The picture above is from the show Friends.