While the world, frenetic, forgets Christmas,
for me it begins --
air crisp, dotted with flurries,
nighttime's lacy veil.
Breathing freely for the first time since --
when? --
I feel His peace . . .
full and flowing, clear as water.
Could it be this simple?
This nighttime clear,
this looking 'round,
this breathing deeply,
soul sinking, exhausted, into rest
safe and solid.
They frightened the soul (didn't they?) --
tied it up in knots,
worried it sick,
chased peace away
with their alarming madness --
self-inflicted craze mistaking
excess for joy,
emotionalism for love,
full bellies for peace.
Meanwhile, He was sleeping,
just sleeping,
quietly in a manger.
When all is still and calm enough,
when I can feel Him Being, like a blanket, Always and Everywhere,
then I know, for certain,
that I need never heed the mad ones,
for He wants me neither jittery nor frightened.
This -- this! --
is my Christmas.
