I wonder (when I get the chance
To rest from tired Christmas dance)
How your parents once spent the day
Just looking for a place to stay,
While I curse crowd and credit card
And pampered life that I call hard.
Why is it hard to utter thanks
As I rush off toward the banks
That hoard my gold at int’rest high
As others on my crumbs rely?
Untouched by hunger this season
Dare I speak excuse or reason
To bow not in humility
That barely clothed you came for me?
Your stable bed a warmer place
Than the cold hearts of our sad race.
You did not come to unwrap gifts
But loosen chains and unclench fists,
That we might be children of God;
Born of more than this broken sod.
Christ I beg you, let us hear it-
The wind of your gentle Spirit.
Lord let us be in spirit poor
And meet you on that stable floor
And walk with you in life and death,
And rise again with Easter breath.
- Talmadge on Who Are You, Really?
- Will on Good Grief
- Mary Sayler on Good Grief
- William R on Good Grief
- Jake Enns on Jesus, Potpourri, and Power
- Bill on Lion Cages and Little Keys
- Mike on Men Retreating
- Bill on Sanctuary – The Song
- Bill on The Gay Question and Religious Liberty
- Dan Carlaw on Sanctuary – The Song
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