Expectant couple travels far and fierce. She, full with child, atop a gentle ass. He, worried as her sighs begin to pierce, And finding there’s no room in inns they pass.
He, with no proper room to birth her child, Secures a proffered stable to take rest. The Babe comes quickly, there amidst the wild. He frees her Son, and lays Him at her breast.
The Newborn listens to the bleating sheep. The feeding trough He lies in smells of hay. His weary mother tries to get some sleep, Through rolling sounds of cry and bleat and bray.
Great throngs of angels revel in this day – In lowly trough, there lies The Truth. The Way.
Seated in my comfortable chair across from my adorned and glowing Christmas tree, there is a sweet hush to my home. Most of my shopping is done. I’m planning a small Christmas Eve gathering with family I was born into, and new-found loves who may not speak English well, but speak love fluently.
Yesterday morning, sweet, colorful cookies were trayed and displayed. Many came to make purchases for this season’s celebrations. The money, not enough to cover the costs of war. The sweet aromas, not enough to cover the stench of death in the nostrils of those who were able to escape, let alone waft to where unwarranted revulsion continues to slaughter and steal.
I relax, plan, shop, decorate, and enjoy these sweet friends I never would have known, if not for their unfathomable plight. And I beg forgiveness for too easily shoving aside the tempest that wells within – for my inability to calm the one they live with every waking moment.
Where are the humble kings? Those who do nothing but what their father tells them to do? Where are those who set aside power who leave glory who serve who wash the feet of friend and foe who wear sandals who cook fish on the shore who feed multitudes with a few fish and rolls who change water to wine for wedding guests who walk with, feed, and touch those deemed unclean who spend time with those others shun who come not to judge, but to save who give their lives for their people. Where is a King of uncommon love? Look to a manger. Look to a cross. Then come. Come, let us adore Him.
Prelude: The wind is howling, as temps dip low and birdfeeders whirl and weave. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We’re hosting here, I believe.
But we’ve a Bomb Cyclone on our hands, and it threatens to wreck our plans.
We’re dreaming of a white Christmas, but not quite like the one on tap where each wind gust threatens to hurl its weapons and blues fill our weather map.
We’re dreaming of a white Christmas, with fam’ly here tomorrow night. We have lots of yummies to fill our tummies, but safe travel’s not in sight.
We’re dreaming of a white Christmas but winds are sweeping off the snow ‘til no treetop glistens. White-out conditions make car travel a no-go.
We may not have a white Christmas, but we have power on inside. Water pipes did not burst. It could be much worse, so we’ll take it all in stride.
Still hoping Christmas Eve happens and safely we can gather here for some much sought-after food, fun, and laughter, and we can spread some Christmas cheer!
What is the best gift but food for one who is hungry, and drink for one who thirsts? For those who feel most unlovable, love feels most crucial, yet most inaccessible. For those who’ve done wrong, the most meaningful gift is forgiveness in full. For this, God set His power aside to be born of a virgin as a helpless newborn boy, reliant on a woman’s breast for nourishment, heart for love, and her tutelage and care for survival and growth. For this, Christ Jesus came: to feed, to love, to quench, and to fully forgive.
The extravagance of the season, embodied: God wrapped in infant.
(Full disclosure: I decided to write this haibun, using the final 17 syllables I’d written many years ago. May the Gift of this season settle into your own heart.)
My place atop the Christmas tree may seem a lofty place for me, but humbly, I point down below through greenery and lights aglow to manger scene that holds the Christ who paid the price in sacrifice for every woman, man, and child – this perfect Lamb – this undefiled Rescuer, Redeemer, God I represent, and richly laud.
Written in response to Walt Wojtanik’s prompt at Poetic Bloomings to write about Christmas from the point of view of an inanimate object.If you look closely, you can see the cross that tops my Christmas tree.
O Bethlehem, do you know the One you have birthed? Let the earth rejoice; raise her voice in song! For the long-awaited Christ was born of Mary – the very woman the angel blessed. She feeds the King at her breast, as angel choirs sing praise, and a star blazes above you, O little town.
No crown for this babe who is able to save, and will conquer the grave someday
At Christmastime, reflecting on our God, I see a rich and sumptuous show of grace. A story so enthralling bids me laud A baby boy, born in a lowly place.
God simply breathed, and life then came to be. He spoke-spilled stars that move at His command. He fashioned sand and man, and shell and sea, This God who values meek, as well as grand.
So when it came to paying debt of sin, He chose to do the grandest thing of all In such a way that awes me deep within: Majestic use of unforeseen, and small.
A vulnerable newborn was His means, Born of a humble woman in her teens.
“Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.” ~ Isaiah 7:14
“This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly. But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”).” ~ Matthew 1:18-23
“She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” ~ Matthew 1:21
Few know of Sue, the Santa Shrew, and that’s a curious thing in view of all the schmoozing she would do once scooting down each chimney flue.
She’d shoot the breeze with skillful ease in English, Welsh, or Taiwanese, while feasting on her hostess’ cheese. Then right back up the flue she’d squeeze.
‘Round every tree, she’d socialize – she’d dramatize and improvise, and aggrandize, and summarize. Shrew ebullience, epitomized.
As starlit skies turned pinks and golds, Sue’d slip ‘tween Santa’s soft cloak folds and there, she’d dream of each household and all her stories, still untold.
pictured words 