By Richard Paul Evans
Our family gathers 'round open script,
A Yule observance yearly kept,
And reads the lines of Bible writ,
The story that all year has slept.
A mother-Mary-in travail,
In search of place that she might birth,
That sin and heartbreak not prevail,
A son to bring into the earth.
And as she crossed
from door to door,
A stranger in
Rejection met with
And as we, this night, in our warm room,
Two thousand years removed and safe,
Condemn those who sent her away,
Claim we'd act different in their place.
And as yet, we too must make this choice,
As Christmas moves from inn to inn,
If we will hear its gentle voice,
And open up and let it in.
For Christmas yearly asks of us,
The question that it must impart,
Will we grant access to our souls,
Or is there room within our hearts?
We read of shepherds who, in kind,
On darkened night watched o'er their sheep,
Then beckoned once left all behind
To find that holy child in sleep.
At Christmas time we too are called,
To leave our troubled lives of care,
To set aside our burdened minds,
With God and man our hearts to share.
yearly asks of us,
That question sent
on angel wings,
Is there still
To leave our cares
for loftier things?
We read of wise men, traveled far,
Their gaze set on a bright new light,
And lifted to exalted star,
Inspired by that celestial sight.
And Christmas too does ask of us,
To raise our eyes to higher spheres,
Believe the best in life and man,
Embrace new hope, release our fears.
And so this scripture read anew
Was not just penned for days all past,
With each new year our hearts renew,
For this, of us, each Christmas asks.