Mariane Doktor, servant and writer

A journey in creativity and faith

Tag: grace (page 2 of 4)

The Christmas present

“What do you wish for Christmas?”

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it. I’ll call back later.”

I go for a walk
Overcast
Rainy weather
Windy weather
Darkness
I can’t see the road any longer
I fall
Into a ditch
I land in a blackberry bush
Rotten berries
Stinging thorns
I fight myself back on the road
I pass the barbed-wire fence
A blackberry branch stick out
Brushes my arm
I should have stayed home

The clouds move
The moon wakes up
My eye catches a star
Lamp posts far away
The storm can’t shake them

The lamp posts look like crosses
There are lights in the crosses
I think about him,
Who hang on a cross
He died on a cross
He sacrificed himself
He redeemed us
Took our punishment,
The Bible says

I don’t wish anything
I’ve got what I
(didn’t know I)
Wanted
The words about his death on Calvary
are the gift wrapping paper
When I unwrap the gift
I understand.
I see God’s father-heart
God sacrificed his beloved son for us
Because he loves us

lygtepæle

Is an ice age coming?

“When will it snow? My daughter asked me a few days ago.
“I don’t know. It may take a while”, I replied.
“No!” Her disappointment was obvious.
Then the meteorologists predicted snow, but the snow stayed away from my part of the country, until we woke up to a snowstorm, Sunday morning. Snow became sleet and rain, and we, grown-ups, nodded to each other.
Now Monday afternoon I can see I was wrong. The snow lies as a blanket on my lawn, bathed in sunshine.
The meteorologists say it won’t snow again for some time now. They might be wrong.
We can make ourselves wise and clever, but we can’t predict everything. I don’t think anybody foresaw the terror attack on Paris.
Every time I read the news or observe discussions (quarrels) on Facebook, it seems like there will soon come an ice age in the entire world. Many meters of snow has fallen into the ventricles of the Islamists.

Will it be Christmas? Can Christmas-joy grow in the frozen ground this year?
Suddenly, something else steps into my mind.

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The Eiffel Tower goes dark

November is plodding
The trees expose their fragile branches
A drop rolls down
the cheek of a leaf
The last flowers wither
the storm rages
Raindrops are pouring down

We miss the summer
and our loved ones, who have left us
The TV shouts
the breaking news

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What I’ve been up to lately

Today I invite you to celebrate with me – and I have a gift for you. Hang on, I’ll tell you more later.

Last year I began to listen to my calling.  I had to write and at the same time I began to hear a voice calling. It belonged to someone I hadn’t talked to for years, and I answered: “I’m here! Where are you?” Christ found me, and He called me to follow Him and write about my walk with Him. I had to overcome many fears. I never imagined that I would create a blog with a focus on Christ. I had not imagined writing in English either. I dared not believe that some day I would write a book.
This autumn God gave me the courage to also write about Christ on my Danish blog. At the same time I received an invitation to submit a full poetry manuscript in English to a competition. I didn’t win the competition, but I didn’t lose either. For weeks I compiled, translated, edited and finished the poetry collection which became an ebook. I prayed to God for showing me what to do with the ebook. His answer sounded like “you’ve received it for free, give it away for free.” This answer meant many things.

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Out of Darkness

 

A power drill in my mind, building castles out of my thoughts.
The flesh is hungry, arms stretching out, and aspiring, planning, building highways
A plate with sweet fruits at my nose, my thought, my feeling
My ego weaving blankets out of moments and impulses, and they will vanish in a sewer
The flesh is dead, the shell is empty.
I can’t hide on the moon, on the couch, in the night, in sweets,
in the sunset, under my blanket, in nothingness or at the end of the world.

I have to get out and turn around. I’m broken, I can’t repair myself.
The high heels sink in the dirt. I stumble and the dress is no longer pink, but mud-colored
I fall on my knees and huddle as if the mud is a womb. I have to return to the light.

He must become greater, I must become less

I wake up to the sound of silence
And the song of a lark
The air tickles my cheeks
I open my eyes and see
A never-ending river of clear water
My feet hit something
Handcuffs on the ground
I meet a man, who is sitting on a rock
I ask him “Do you know whose those chains are?
“They’re yours” he answers, “Do you want them back?”
I shake my head
“Do you have faith?” He asks
I nod
He looks at the horizon
“All things are possible for Father”, he says
He arises and walks towards me

flod

 

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