WINTER FIRE

The shadows of winter swallow the sun that adorned the bright head of June.

December’s demons dance their darkness and cape the harvest moon.

But you are with me even so; my hands in yours stay warm.

Alive in my soul burns the passionate hope of the Christmas Child who calmed the storm.

A sheet of ice looms ghostly ahead; the road is black with its danger,

Trying to hide its treacherous scheme to cloak our memory of the manger.

The winds keep howling their winter moan, then gust into a cry,

Hoping with their plaintive dirge to drown the lullaby.

But you are with me even so; my hands in yours stay warm.

Aglow in my heart burns the hot, constant spark of the Christmas Child who defies my storm.

Ice is forming on my windows; deadly crystals entice.

Sometimes the chill lures my tired will to be glazed by the hard, cold ice.

Then I remember Bethlehem’s manger and the infant Messiah’s first cries,

And the thaw that came over the world that night forms a warm-flowing joy in my eyes.

For, oh, you are with us even so! Immanuel strong and warm.

Born to be claimed, reborn to be named our undying peace through the storm.

Once long ago on some obscure calendar date Jesus Christ was born in Bethlehem, but He is reborn every day somewhere in hearts that were dark and afraid. Could He be waiting to return for us because some cold hearts we encounter each day are awaiting the spark of His Life that we carry but do not offer? Let’s hasten His return by telling them!