Immanuel…God With Us!

Wood
When born
You were swaddled
And placed in a box of wood
The grain of the manger
Rough against your pink, new skin
When young
You put your hands on wood
And shaped it, forming
Gifts and useful items
With your father, in his shop
When grown
You took up a cross of wood
And hung there, dying
With splinters and thorns
Piercing your skin, hurting
Reminding you that wood
And the world you made
Were good and worth saving
 Jeff Jenkins
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About scribblerjeff

wordswurdswirds is the first-time ever blog on words, language, and the culture they invoke, through the eyes, mind, and keyboard of Jeff Jenkins. Jeff is a Christian/outlaw, husband, father, reader, writer, theologian, philosopher, and pre-apocalyptic, pop-culture prophet of the new media, which is the same as the old media. There is nothing new under the Sun. When I am not writing this blog, I am selling commercial janitorial services, though in my mind, I am already at the California Coast with my family and friends. Word! View all posts by scribblerjeff

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