Her hand rests gently ‘pon my shoulder,
She reaches up from resting there.
“I am so tired,” I softly told her.
My whisper set in soft despair.
“You’ll be okay,” her voice so tender,
Her quiet tones, so warm and sure.
And for a moment, in this splendor
My strength returns. I can endure.
Arising, lifting, fitted boldly,
I stand to meet this day restored.
And though she knows it bars me coldly
Her voice is that of Christ, my Lord.
For in her words is vigor given
And though I’ve not made her aware,
But to her hand I now am driven,
My day to find its ending there.
For Jennifer, my wife, my vigor and strength.
The Eve of the Nativity of Our Lord
24 December A.D. 2009