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When I was a child, I knew nothing of You.
Others spoke of You.
Old as time.
Inscrutable as infinity.
And I came to think of You as an antique.

Now that I am of a “certain age,”
I see us both as vintage.

It wasn’t until I’d lived a long time
that I came to what now seems
an obvious conclusion.

God doesn’t make mistakes.

You said it all with Your name.
I am that I am.

If I am Yours, I’ll ride the tide of years
and wear it all proudly:
grey hair, bi-focals, crow’s feet.

This is where the journey gets interesting.

Have a Mary Little Christmas

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