No Other Call Worth Heeding

In this turning, where cold hands thaw and broken bodies rise,

There is a fire kindled not by our own striving,

But from the heart of Love, who walked among us,

Bearing the weight of both womb and world to bring us home. — D.

This is the month of unbound cheer. The bondsman shakes loose his iron, the freeman holds his head high, and the gates swing open to the host of the heavens. Even the flesh, worn and bent by toil, feels its burden eased. Love cloaks us, not in rags, but in the royal hue of kings—a gift heavy with wonder, light as air.

This is the month of bold winnings. The spirit, long tethered, breaks free, and the flesh, unruly, finds its keel. Life stirs where there was stillness, for the All-Father’s love brought Him low to walk among his kindred. God Himself donned the shape of man, not for pride, but for kinship’s sake.

On this day, Glory set aside His gleaming crown to wear the rough garb of shame, and not from loss, but in lowly strength. When Adam traded truth for the lie, Christ turned the lie into a path home. Who among us can sit still and slothful, when the Bright One bore the womb’s weight and walked the madness of thirty years in our midst? So get up and follow Him! There is no other call worth heeding.

D.