[NicknamedBob]

A Difficult Season

This is a most difficult season. We've traveled a distance this year.
I'm growing increasingly worried. My dear wife and I are in fear.
Our journey has been quite a hard one, and others have passed us in haste,
If we are to find some comfort, we haven't a moment to waste.

But she could give birth any minute. This motion is not a good thing.
We'll need to rest long when we get there, and we'll need all the coin we can bring.
This traveling back to my hometown, means that I and my child will share,
This place of birth and our kinship, with others who dwell about there.

The town is decidedly crowded. There's not a room to be had.
The innkeeper lets us take shelter, in a stable nearby. It's not bad.
The earthy smells are a comfort, somewhat like a scent of new wood.
As a carpenter, I know I'll rest easy, if my wife will agree that it's good.

I would think it could be a bit festive, with a pine bough to sweeten the air,
And a candle or lamp, to keep out the night damp, but I sit on the straw and just stare.
For beyond the smoke of our camp-fires, I can see a bright star in the sky.
The heavens may have their works revealed, but I cannot spare them my eye.

For my wife is finding comfort, in the straw of our rude little space,
And so, like it or not, I'm preparing, to welcome our child in this place.
So a food trough becomes a first cradle, as he comfortably makes it his own,
All swaddled about, with his face shining out, he can reign like a king on his throne.

When I get to a place I can work at, I'll make a good cradle, and sound.
A carpenter's son shouldn't have to accept, some rough sticks in a bad part of town.

NicknamedBob . . . . . . December 16, 2008

[MEG33]

Beautiful, Bob...Christmas Joy To You

[luvie]

Beautiful!

Thank you for sharing this
sweet story of
The First Christmas!

[trisham]

Lovely, Bob!

[left that other site]

The Grotto

They've Improved it quite a bit,
It's got a marble floor.
You never can have too many lamps,
So it seems they've added more.
Rich drapery of Damask Silk
Trimmed skilfully with lace,
Surround the spot, marked by a star,
Where the Miracle took place.

But still, one has to go straight down,
Through an old door past the Nave,
Descend down many marble steps
To a damp and musty cave.
Although it no longer smells like sheep,
But like Frankincense and Myrrh,
We still see the humble place
Where The Miracle occurred.

The cameras all click and whir,
The Tour group presses on.
We've yet to see Jerusalem,
Tomorrow soon will dawn.
But I reach down and touch the Star,
That's bolted to the floor,
And know He's living in my heart,
And will, forevermore.

Left That Other Site, 12/24/16

ML/LTOS