Hope Of The Holiday

Vintage Words


Jesus, born a fugitive, on the lam

from Herad's henchmen, was wanted

for rumors of a prophesy. Do you know

of any Kings who want to kill you, every

road filled with swords aimed at your

throat? His mother rode on a donkey while

his father walked to Bethlehem during hot

days and freezing nights to be taxed. No

buses, not trains. A tough ride pregnant.

Are sleigh bells sounding a bit louder now?


Imagine arriving at your destination

to find your reservations canceled, but you

can have the barn in compesation.

Hay and fire do not mix well, so there

is cold and a trough and sleepless nights.

No indoor plumbing, the only light source

a star.


Now, imagine giving birth in a stable

to the smell of camels with lots of cattle

and sheep looking on. Imagine Mary

screaming and a lot of blood. Then, some

friends bring gifts of myhrr and frankinsense,

when what you really need is a hot pot of soup

and some blankets. Weeping solves nothing.

It never has.


So, as you uncontroallably weep while

looking at the Christmas tree, think of Jesus

who had a pretty hard beginning and an ending

in for-the-whole-world pain. Somehow, going

through a divorce, hate, alone in the hospital,

death of a spouse, vengeance, homelessness,

car wrecked, broken heart, waiting for a dog of 11 years

to die, suicide, and a thousand other soul crushing

conditions of being, real or imagined, may not be quite

so worthy of  ceaseless tears. Somebody somewhere 

at some time or another has got, or has had it,








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