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Tuesday, January 20, 2015



Darling, can it really be true?
Had we been so wanton in our disorder?

All I remember –  it was a Tuesday,
And very warm for the end of January.
In our house we smashed all the crystal goblets
And then proceeded to break each and every bottle,
The vintage spilled out on the floor;
It stained and then sunk into the old wooden boards.  

And at this point what does it matter?

Remember the story when Jesus at the wedding feast in Cana 
Honored His mother’s request and turned water into wine.

The party had run out of the number one liquid staple.

At first His order seemed inappropriate:
Six great jars filled to the brim (more than a hundred gallons),
Many in the party wondered aloud
How preparations for a ritual bath                       Might pertain to there being no wine for the wedding feast. 

Then Jesus told the servants, ‘Now draw some out...” 
He had them take the draft to the chief steward for tasting.
And lo and behold now the new question  
Instead of first, why had the best been served last?

Would such miracle do us any good?  
Look around. Shards of glass surround us, 
Just shattered cups, and bottles whose necks are broken.
All bounty meaningless,
When nothing left, no vessel remains to contain it,
Yet Mercy attends and announces His ministry.

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