Tip of My Iceberg

photo courtesy of Ian Borg on Unsplash

‘Twas the week before Christmas when all through the burg,

folks were packed up and heading out because of the word

of the current governor of Syria, Quirinias by name,

who wanted a census taken for a very specific aim.

To know who lived in his region, to tax them without pause;

they had to go to their heritage home to account for their birthright cause.

Mary and Joseph headed for Bethlehem, the birthplace of David,

who was an ancestor to both, from a small town, quite dated.

They walked ninety miles to reach their objective,

a challenge for Mary, nine-months pregnant, quite intensive.

Arriving at their desired end was tumultuous and tough,

for others who’d already arrived had found it to be quite rough.

Lodging was scarce, with no open rooms, and no place they could relax.

It didn’t feel like progress but was only full of setbacks.

They were led to a cave with animals in their stalls,

so musty and dirty, the manger had to be covered with her shawl.

Some women came as midwives to help with the birth,

encouraging Mary that this act of love was of great worth.

When the Baby came, strips of cloth covered His small body;

no premade clothes, but He cared not that His garments were shoddy.

His first visitors were shepherds from Bethlehem town,

young men who were amazed at the King without a crown.

The star that heralded the coming of the king,

seen by the Persian Magi, who chose to follow it and bring

gifts to the King whose coming they’d carefully studied.

They gathered supplies, made plans, studied the stars, and hurried

to honor the One who’d been spoken of by prophets of old,

bringing kingly gifts of frankincense, myrrh, and gold.

The journey was long, almost two years to plan and travel,

they didn’t hesitate, though some wouldn’t choose that challenge to grapple.

They reached Jerusalem and asked Herod for directions,

not knowing he feared losing his throne, and they’d need protection.

When they found the young child, they worshiped Him as King,

offering Him the gifts of significance they did bring.

Then Joseph was told by God in a dream

that Herod intended great harm; he’d devised a wicked scheme

to kill the potential usurper of his throne

by murdering all boy babies, for his heart was cold as stone.

So Joseph fled with Mary and her Son,

and they went to Egypt until Herod’s reign was done.

Christmas isn’t a story of presents and lights,

nor is it the songs that we sing through the night.

It’s the history of God sending His Son to be one of us,

that He’d give forgiveness when the mess of our lives was all fuss.

The Child we celebrate is God in the flesh,

the One who gives grace and makes our lives new and fresh.

Merry Christmas, my friends. May you experience the joy and wonder of this day every day.