I had the honor to write and read this Christmas poem for REAL, in Pataskala, Ohio for their Christmas Eve service. It came swiftly, softly and with great joy. Though the story is one that has been recited and replayed with each passing year, there’s a special refreshed holiness that fills when mediating on the birth. Such a gift.
d e c e m b e r 2 4
This newborn baby’s eyelashes,
finer than the straw which supports His back,
gentle, like the moonbeams on that birth night.
They bat out dirt from the eyes
that see incredible miracles performed.
These soft hands outstretched with tiny fingers,
are laid on the sick, who become healed;
His whole life to prepare
these growing hands
to become pierced.
Swaddled in strips of cloth,
wrap the little baby’s body,
full of life;
long sheets of spices and linen,
used to envelop His dead body;
only to be folded and lay idle within the vacant tomb,
uncovering His death-defying resurrection.
For this resurrection of grace and glory,
is the same glory that descended
on this starry night,
on this humble birth.
This holy birth.
For our whole, complete,
full salvation–lacking nothing,
was born in the bright eyes of this pure baby,
conceived to be a sacrifice.
And with the East star’s shine,
descending onto earth,
such softness and compassion ensued,
as God Himself
was birthed into humanity,
woven into this gentle baby.
For this birth,
doused in divinity,
was only the beginning
of our everlasting life.