Mary Christmas...Today's Tweaked Christmas Poem Re-post

 

It happens every year

In spite of my intent

That to-do list with iron fist

Insists that I consent

And if I pay no heed

Then I fear that I might

Forget the Worth that came to earth

On that first Christmas night

Why do I rush about

Letting panic increase?

Jesus was born on Christmas morn

To give us hope and peace

And should I never pause

To sit at Jesus' knee

Then I have missed His greatest gift

In care’s futility

Will we kneel at His feet

Or fret in flurried fuss?

Will we be Martha or Mary?

The choice is up to us

© Janet Martin

At the Home of Martha and Mary: Luke 10:38-42

At the Home of Martha and Mary: Luke 10:38-42

 As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him.  She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said.  But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
 “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things,  but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” - See more at: http://anotherporch.blogspot.ca/2012/12/a-mary-christmas.html#sthash.hwdYZIMP.dpuf

Morning, Mercy's Favor (and a bread recipe)

It's SO refreshing to see gold instead of gray on the morning skyline...

Morning wakes and gently breaks

Across bars that held the stars

Yesterday’s tomorrow splays

…virgin gold from heaven’s jars

Time’s sheer weight rolls through dawn’s gate

None can tell what rides its swell

We are guests of moment-quests

Beggars drinking from hope’s well

Hours open up like flow’rs

From the bastioned bud unfolds

Brilliant beauty spilling duty-

Petals from love’s ‘high-call holds’

Without measure mercy’s pleasure

Wills its treasure to the air

...moment-molds that grace unfolds

To favor with praise and prayer

© Janet Martin

I began writing this poem early but then needed to run some errands which included picking up dinner-rolls at a local bakery for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. They were sold out!!  so duty-beauty looks like dinner-roll dough in the making;)

 I've never made this recipe before but Emily (daughter) sent it to me the other day thinking I might like to try it, so if it turns out I'll share it later on...

It's later on now. Here is the recipe. I think I would prefer it as a braided loaf rather than rolls, but all in all very nice! The rolls are not quite as soft and fluffy as I wish they would be but the flavor is yummy!

Garlic Herb Bread

Ingredients:

4-4/12 cups all purpose flour

3 tbsp sugar

2 pkg (2 tbsp) quick rising yeast

2 tsp dried basil

1 3/4 tsp dillweed

1 1/2 tsp salt

3/4 tsp garlic powder 

3/4 rosemary (crushed)

3/4 cup milk

1/2 cup water

1/4 cup butter

1 egg 

Directions:

In a large bowl combine 1 1/2 cups flour, sugar, yeast, and seasonings. Heat milk, water and butter. Add to dry ingredients (make sure milk isn't too hot for yeast). Beat until moistened. Add egg and beat till smooth. Stir in enough remaining flour to form a soft dough. Knead until smooth. Cover and let rise for 10-15 minutes. 

Make a braid. Divide dough into thirds. Roll each third into a rope. Place on a greased baking sheet and braid. Pinch ends to seal. Let rise til double ( about 20-25 minutes) 

Bake at 325 approx 25 minutes. Brush with butter! 

Easy! Enjoy :) 

The Dreamer Needs No Stars to See

Night lays blue bars across the stars

It fills the hills with darker dark

No color taunts our gaze with wants

Its solitude sterile and stark

The heart has eyes; when daylight dies

And lies beneath dusk’s epitaph

Ah, then the dreamer dreams his dreams

He needs no stars to light this path

There is no near or far, my dear

Where thought is a chariot of fire

The human soul naught can console

Save that of relinquished desire

The air is deep with cots of sleep

But sleep is for weary and wise

The dreamer dips his fingertips

Into the ink of starless skies

...and there he wills from nocturne quills

Whispers wafting on onyx reels

But what he knows cannot compose

The utterance of all he feels

© Janet Martin