What of the girl, purposely blind,
Standing tall in the crisp-fallen snow?
She heard the announcement, saw the bright lights...
And yet she refuses to go.
I am the girl, resolute;
I may hear the footsteps tonight,
But I've no call to hark any angels;
I'll rather put up a fight.
It makes no sense that you'd work this way
Why here? Why now? Why for them?
Among the dust, among those that despise you,
Who would, rather than worship, condemn?
The soft, pale glow in the late-night sky
Shines on the footprints, steady and slow
As camels pass by me, laden with gold,
And yet I refuse to go.
What nonsense is this, that you would entreat
Shepherds to welcome your birth?
What nonsense is this that you would be born
In the lowest of places on earth?
Animals, dust, straw, and dirt--
Lacking attendants fit for a king,
You wait in silent patience tonight
As shepherds pass by me and sing.
They joyfully welcome the Lord of Hosts
Who has shaken my view of the norm.
What nonsense is this? You came not in triumph-
You came in a manger, just born.
I don't think I like your methods of entry.
You beckon me closer, I know.
Now the angels are singing and shepherds bow down,
And still I refuse to go.
Yes, I shiver, my breath curls upward,
But I have not yet made up my mind.
Confusion still reigns as I sink to my knees,
And a voice softly speaks from behind:
"Little girl, I know you're surprised.
You do not see wisdom in this.
But tonight a savior is born.
Go to him, and feel MY kiss.
How many times must I show you
My methods are unlike your own.
To you it is foolish, to me, it is right.
Tonight, the seeds are all sown
To bring mankind to terms
With the kind of savior I am.
You expected a King in his splendor,
But I sent an innocent Lamb.
Go, little girl; be amazed.
Witness my glory tonight
In the face of a child in a manger.
In your well-being, love, I delight."
Why me? I am frozen with fear.
Who am I to sit, warm, in your love?
A child sleeps tonight in the cold--
This savior sent from above.
Tears that freeze on my cheeks,
And a breeze and a pale, soft glow
Suggest an undeserved mercy,
And at last, worshipful, I will go.
postscript
I wrote this last year, actually, a few days after Christmas. I will probably write a new Christmas poem this year too, but we will see. I think this states my usual view of Christmas fairly well. It seems that every year I am once again amazed that God would redeem a world in such a lowly way. Merry Christmas to all of my wonderful watchers. Grace and Peace.