In a Bed of Hay

Your mother Mary lay you down in a bed of hay, and that was incredibly humble; your foster father Joseph made it all possible... he raised you in his birth town, to keep you safe from the pagans who worshiped those gods you called idols! In a bed of hay, little King, you watched unafraid that log-tailed star that stopped over the unused manger at the inn... where the cow and the donkey breathed hard to keep you warm; and how could the Wise Men have known of your coming, to take on a long journey and claim you their King, refusing to return to the almighty Herod the Great? When the angels appeared above and started to sing words of peace and good will toward men, and the shepherd boy, who heard their voices, ran down the hill to fall on his knees... while the drummer-boy played his drum by the drooping palm tree; and others came to visit you and offer you their gifts! The Magi came with gold, incense and myrrh: the three gifts that revealed the stages of you destiny, and you accepted them by showing no fear! In a bed of hay, little King, you invite the blind and the sick, the persecuted and the poor to get rid of their hopelessness: to enter into the Kingdom where gracious love is the temple of holiness, where no one is ever turned away if that soul has faith! In a bed of hay, we declare you King,and you stare at us: speaking of Paradise...proclaiming a divine message that God approves! Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci