Clouds are blanketing Christmas. I sit here in my robe and slippers pecking away. Turning myself into pixels yet again. The heart sleeps in the manger; the newborn babe lies in the straw.
Time has not yet become A.D. The internet lies far in the future but wars have been ongoing since forever and will continue. Peace is a mere promise, as always.
Stars, what are they? Uncharted lampposts for drunken revelers, enigmas for the curious, night fires in a frozen sky.
Believers rise up and continue to believe. Doubters scoff and stagger among the hills and down into the valleys.
The magi are making their way guided by one particular star. It isn’t Siri.
The silent night calls out to lost souls. They recognize it and are in awe of it.
I am a part of this ancient scenario, believe it or not. I have my lines to read and lines to listen to very carefully. It is hard to hear among the noise of this sacred silence. It scrambles the words into a dangerous beauty. The baby stirs. The magi come nearer.
It is December, 2017 and I sit here typing myself back into the present moment.
You who are reading this, beware, for the King of Kings is making His Home inside your heart. You will know Him when you know yourself, although He has been there forever.
You who are helpless to have faith, do not be dismayed. Helplessness is is needed for passage into the heart.
Bide your time. Wait if you can. Hope if you must. The babe is now full grown and the promise will be fulfilled. The heart must burst open and turn into its own guiding star.