The Night

Christmas makes me feel like a poet. What is one to do on the eve of Christ’s birth but write about him? The Kingdom has come.

We toil.

We spin.

We rage

And we plot.

We throw up our hands,

“It’s all for naught”.

We curse.

We hiss.

We spew

And we fight.

We look at the other,

“It’s they who aren’t right”.

We worry.

We stress.

We pace

And we fear.

We bite our nails,

“The end must be near”.

It’s all for naught?

It’s they who aren’t right?

The end must be near?

You’ve not heard of the night?

The night He was born.

The night that He came.

The night beneath stars

When everything changed.

Here was Light of the world:

Gentle and meek.

A friend of the broken,

The helpless and weak.

Our questions were answered

By the babe in a stall.

A good Kingdom established,

Once and for all.

We sing.

We dance.

We shout

And we praise.

We marvel anew,

“A hope for all days!”

We go.

We help.

We love

And we mend.

We open our arms,

“Your foe, my friend”.

We pray.

We wait.

We trust

And we bless.

We take a deep breath,

“Now and forever, we rest”.