So
once again the wheel of seasons has turned
and to our sources we do return.
Towers have fallen, and still we remember;
the world is war-torn,
in this tenuous December.
Relationships
end; the times they are a'changin',
and some are hurting, for the death of someone dear;
and across the world and even in our hearts
were it not for Christmas cheer
one might ask-
"What sort of God…"
What
sort of God could allow such trouble
to live in our hearts and in our lives?
Who, if omnipotent, omnipresent, and all-seeing
Would not stop it at once, before it came a-knocking at
our doors?
Yes,
"Who could allow it?" we might silently wonder,
query with confusion, picturing God, our Mysterious
Stranger
scooping up clay to form tiny figures like toy soldiers
we fear are us.
"Us?" we might wonder, "Are we to be squashed?"
"God, can that be You, delighting in our doom,
like some mad, mischievous child, destroying his creation?"
Oh,
how tempting to feel all this and more, and yet-
We
grow old, we grow old,
we shall wear the bottoms of our trousers rolled…
Too
wise are we to indulge in such notions
in hearts and minds for too long a time.
Too wise are we to clutter our spirits
with thoughts with which we dare not long linger-
It's best to continue with life, we know,
for experience has taught us, that time heals ev'rything,
trite as it might sound.
And,
so, to home we wander!-
though things are not perfect,
though home may be a new place, with nothing the same.
To home we wander!-
to see father and mother, or to kindle their memory, amongst
the familiar.
And
indeed, inside the door, what joy!-
warm hands, smiles, and a Christmas tree!
Ornaments from Christmas-past hang for all to see,
and we are ornaments too,
our faces grown older, but beaming, and kindly.
We
take on the glow of Christmas-now,
and cease our wondering "Why?"
For, if we wonder, "Why?" and "How could?…"
We must wonder it too of all that is good!
And good, we now see, abounding around us,
in our faces, the tree, and spiced Christmas tea!
We
sigh, and smile, and look about us,
and instead of accusing, think a new sort of "how"-
"How," when we pay so little attention
to God and His angels who are surely about us,
"how" when towers fall, and wars rage, and daily
we err and spin our wheels,
and surely we are not blameless!-
"How then, does love still 'come down at Christmas?'"-
Even to us?
Is
it not the highest of gifts?
Is not our God, indeed very good?
We
grow old, we grow old,
we shall wear the bottoms of our trousers rolled…
