Let It Be :: Come, Lord Jesus Book Club: Week 4

by Sandra Heska King

I am the handmaid of the Lord

Let it be.


It’s been nine months since the seed was first sown.

Nine months of waiting, growing heavy with time.

Nine months of “I don’t want to move.”


Nine months of sunrise dawning in incremental stanzas.

Nine months of watching God weave new wonders.

Nine months of watching Him unfold the next chapter.


Nine months of finding gold in the gray of worry.

Nine months of syncing my heart’s rhythm with heaven’s pulse.

Nine months of saying goodbye in order to say hello.


Yesterday we signed the papers with a hundred blue strokes

and committed to a new story (new to us, known to God)

far away from loved ones,

in an unfamiliar place

with unfamiliar people.

What if they don’t like us?

What if we don’t like them?

by Mary Brack

There is no power, and the light is fading

as we unload belongings from our wanderings.

Our footsteps bounce off second-thought walls.

We focus now on flaws and imperfections

once hidden by staging’s trappings—

the gouge in the kitchen counter,

the washing machine that hinders the opening of the door.

The towel rack that held those pretty aqua towels has disappeared,

leaving scars where it once hung over the tub.

We wonder where we’ll

put all our stuff, all our stuffing.


But the lake is still,

and we talk of new counters and cupboards

and fresh paint and flowers,

and the fact that this is really just a retention pond,

and we wonder if an alligator lives there,

and should we leave the fence up or take it down,

and should we paint the house or wash it,

and is it really a good idea to have an

electric outlet next to the outdoor faucet?


The full moon’s rising, and it’s growing dark.

There will be light on tomorrow’s boxed day,

and we will sleep on a mattress pumped with air

while we wait for our boxes on the appointed day.


Across the street

a woman retrieves her trash can

and does not wave back.

On one side glow the lights

of reindeer, and the neighbor

responds to us with a gruff greeting.

On the other side, Santa hangs in a window,

and that neighbor, newly home from work,

waits in his car until we drive away.


Nine months has seemed like a lifetime,

Yet nine months has seemed like a breath.

We live in the “already and not yet,”

and we will follow the star and find our way.

Christmas will come here in this new place,

but Christmas is already here in our midst.

He loves us still

and stills us with love,

and we will celebrate

because we live tethered to a manger

and to a cross that lifts the

weight of waiting.


I am the Lord’s handmaid

Let it be.

POEM by Sandra Heska King. “Once a nurse, always a nurse,” some say. But these days Sandra cares for (and cares with) words. She just moved from a large family farmhouse in Michigan to a much smaller home in South Florida. SHK is a wife to one, mom to two, and nama to four. She’s passionate about steeping in stillness, but she also creates mischief and extends hospitality as a “poetry barista” for Tweetspeak Poetry. Find her and her social media links at her blog.


Father God, give me the courage to bear the weight of the wait. May I pattern my heart after your servant Mary. May I be a handmaiden with one response…”let it be as you have said.” I believe you will do ALL you have said. I trust you. Amen. by Michelle Nezat 

Share Your Heart

Thank you for joining us in this, the final week of the Advent book club. Our hope is you found it inspiring and meaningful in your Christmas celebrations.

On Day 23, Kris writes

Every page of our life has already been accounted for, and yet for us, here on the ground level, every moment is new and unknown.”

For many of us, our personal waiting will continue long after Christmas passes and the New Year begins. What changes our story is Christ has come! Immanuel.

God is in our midst! He is among us now, serenading us with the song of heaven, a song for which we do not know the words, but the Holy Spirit within us, tunes our hearts to sing along.

How will you celebrate Christ’s coming in the “already, not yet?” Share your thoughts in the comments.

Alleluia, He is here.

Advent Book Club

clj_final-cover2-940x1471During Advent, we’re reading Come, Lord Jesus: The Weight of Waiting by Kris Camealy.

Week 1: Days 1-7

Week  2: Days 8-14

Week 3: Days 15-21

Week 4: Days 22-25

Oh Wisdom,

Lord and Ruler, 

Root of Jesse,

Key of David,

Rising Sun,

King of the Nations,


Come, Lord Jesus.

*from the Antiphons of Advent, upon which the song “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” is also based.

(Visited 12 times, 1 visits today)
Share the Love
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrEmail this to someone
December 18, 2016
  • Love this: “But the lake is still,

    and we talk of new counters and cupboards

    and fresh paint and flowers,

    and the fact that this is really just a retention pond,”

    • Hi Bethany,

      Let’s hope we can all retain some stillness in this new year, yes? Wishing you lots of fresh and new in the coming year. Looking forward to pouring more tea with you. 🙂

  • Sandra, your poem took my breath away . . . You are such a gifted writer! Thank you for the magic you weave with words.

  • Thank you for creating the connection of the handmaiden’s season of waiting to our own experiences of giving birth to God’s plans which have been knit together through months of waiting. We are blessed to be on the other side of Mary’s journey yet need the promise that “because we live tethered to a manger and to a cross that lifts the weight of waiting.”

    • Hi, Stephanie. Thanks so much for resting here a bit. I love how you’ve woven the waiting connection into “our experiences of giving birth to God’s plans which have been knit together through months of waiting.” Thanks for giving me a clearer focus today.

      (And look! I’ve figured out how to reply to a specific comment. )

  • Loved the image of living tethered to a manager and a cross. Oh, and we will follow the star and find our way. Lovely work, Sandra!

    • Thank you so much, Emily. Many blessings for a bright starlit Christmas.

  • Christina… thanks for inviting me to share a little of my heart here. As Kris will undoubtedly notice, I “stole” a few of her words–found a few lines with them.

    I’ll also want to say that since I wrote this, my husband had the opportunity to meet the “reindeer neighbor” who is very nice. The neighbor on the other side turned out to be a sweet high school boy who I assume was having some texting/phone time. The neighbor across the road has a friendly wave and smile. So first anxious impressions are not always accurate.

    There appears to be some diversity in this neighborhood. And it’ll be fun to get out and about and meet the neighbors as soon as I can find my way through walls of boxes and mountains of packing paper.

    • Sandra, I love hearing the next piece of your waiting story! It really speaks to me where I’m at today. I’ve borrowed + stolen a few of her lovely phrases too. Poetic license? I think everyone knows we’re referring it back to her book. And I’m so so glad you were able to write with us. What a gift!

  • Oh Sharon. You know how much I value your words and encouragement. Thanks for coming by to grace me/is with them. They–you–are a gift. And now I’m all weepy. xo

  • Hi, Sharon, thank you for sharing your favorite lines and what this poem represents to you. I agree. So many thought-provoking lines. I’m so glad you shared that with us.

  • So happy to see the link repaired!


    What a gorgeous poem! So many lines I regard as my favorites: “we unload belongings from our wanderings,” “Our footsteps bounce off second-thought walls,” and “We live in the ‘already and not yet.’”

    Such God-work in your journey. In God’s special way, He forms this story in the nine months of your waiting. This gestation, swollen with heaviness and hope, helps us feel the pregnant quickening of life.

    Amidst the questions and doubts, imperfections and unfamiliar places, you show us the way—and encourage us to celebrate His love for us.

    In “Come, Lord Jesus,” December 18 speaks of a sign. For us today, the sign may not be found in the form of angels descending from heaven, but it might be the grace born from someone’s story in verse or a devotion that speaks of truth, light, and love.