IN SKIN CALLED JESUS

“He was in the world, and though the world was made through Him, the world did not recognize Him. He came to that which was His own, but His own did not receive Him. Yet to all who received Him He gave the right to become children of God…The Word became flesh and lived for a while among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the one and only Son who came from the Father, full of grace and glory…From the fullness of His grace we have all received one blessing after another.” John 1:10-12, 14, 16

One day in skin called Jesus, the God of Heaven stepped out of the Book

To walk and talk and eat among us,

And let us feel His breath upon us—

To let us touch Him with our fingers of flesh,

And give us a closer look.

For He was the Word loosed from the pages, laughing and sweating, with dusty feet—

Wisely passionate and meekly glad,

The pride of His Father in humility clad,

From His seat in the Throne Room to the Place of the Skull

So that agony and ecstasy could meet.

Gritting His teeth, God withheld His hand from His Son now covered in sin—

And the man in skin called Jesus died—

And with Him the shame God could not abide.

His humanity had bought us eternity;

God lost so that we could win.

Think of it! What must it have been like for God to watch His perfect Son growing from year to year “in wisdom and stature” knowing that each day brought Him closer to the agonizing death which was the purpose of His life? No one but the Omniscient could have fathomed such foreboding agony; no one but the Omnipotent could have borne it. Ponder such love and live out your deep gratitude this Christmas and in the new year.

CHRISTMAS MEMORIES

“I thank my God every time I remember you.” Philippians 1:3

My Dear Sister Judy,

Looking back, it was only a handful of seasons;

in the scope of our lives, it was only a few,

but it seemed like scores of Christmases then,

whose comings and goings would never end,

when Mother would bring the Christmas tree in

in colors no tree ever grew.

Like cotton candy, more than a tree,

flocked in blue, even pink-tinted snow,

we’d deck it in fashionable “ice”covered lights,

and when our picture window would fog up just right,

303 Tenaha would extinguish the night,

and our proud eyes and hearts would glow.

I remember my Betsy-Wetsy doll;

I remember your Tiny Tears.

There were red and yellow cowboy boots,

chemistry sets, and stocking loot,

Roman candles, almonds, and Juicy Fruit,

dependable, year after year.

And we could always depend on Mother to run

from the pictures Daddy would click.

Cousins came over, or we went there,

anxious to see how each other fared,

still in pajamas, but nobody cared—

and there were log-sized peppermint sticks!

You played your piano or accordion,

and Daddy made all of us sing.

For this one day, at least, a ceasefire was called;

no bombs could be dropped, no axes could fall.

It was all for one, and one for all—

a miracle only Christmas could bring.

It was magic for sure, and we couldn’t wait

for the season to work its charm.

Duke Ellen and Janis would appear with their things;

you’d play your records and compare diamond rings

while we’d cuss and bust my new trampoline.

Life was happy and safe and warm.

The family weather was unstable;

in a flash it could turn ice-cold.

And its fabric was fickle— burlap or cashmere—

it was anyone’s guess all the rest of the year.

But when we pulled out the tinsel, we packed up the tears,

and fashioned a tapestry of gold.

Some logs in that hearth we’ve resigned to the ages;

some better as ashes than embers.

But the way our parents made Christmas- oh man!

Weren’t they something? Wasn’t it grand?

Just Mother and Daddy, Judy, and Jan,

and those precious Parker Decembers.

(To my little big sister, who alone can share these rare memories)

Remember these days?

Quick—before you get up and are swept into the season’s bustle today—grab a pen and write some shared memories of a Christmas Past to someone you love!

GIFT BY STARLIGHT

“After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him…Then they opened their treasures and presented Him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh…” Matthew 2:1-2, 11

If I were a wise man when you were a baby, I want you to know, dearest Lord of my soul,

I would have found a way to the town ‘neath that star of silver to your manger of gold.

As the others packed up their camels with spices and gold all befitting Immanuel, the King,

My mind would be spinning the words just beginning to capture the art I would fashion to bring.

Oh, lyrics melodious, celestial I’d choose each night ‘neath the Star by a flickering flame—

Unsurpassed flowing of imagery glowing for the longed-after infant bearing Heaven’s own Name.

Not even a minute would it take me to choose the gift I would wrap up to give you back then,

For even now I suppose every phrase I compose and entrust with trembling into substitute hands

Is a wish of a foolish and misguided plan of a blind and aimless schemer.

For how could they know how deep these words go? Like a dream only real to the dreamer.

Tonight as my soul spun its best similes and my phrases danced glorious rhythms to you,

I finally discovered you alone are the lover with the heart my lyrics relentlessly pursue.

I am no wise man, and You are no baby, and I can’t hold you yet, though I follow your Star.

Every day brings me nearer to that moment so dear when at last I extol you for all that you are.

So since Heaven is too holy for these trappings of earth, and we can’t take these mortal things on it,

I’ll give up fantasizing and begin memorizing my heart laden down with love sonnets.

However you do it best, worship Him this Christmas! Do it with singing, do it with poetry, do it with cooking, do it with rolling on the floor with your kids and grandkids. Most of all, do it with heart. Throw all you have and are behind what you do. Worship the Gift that is Jesus!

EVERGREEN THROUGHOUT THE YEAR

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned. You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy; they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest…You have shattered the yoke that burdens them, the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor…For to us a child is born, to us a son is given.” Isaiah 9:2-6

Tonight the year’s red carpet rolls beneath the evergreen,

And little eyes are savoring what older ones have seen

Of the star above the stable tied on limbs with golden strings;

Of dancing flashes of color in the snow-white angels’ wings.

The magic inextinguishable in spite of age or care

Or troubles that without this season permeate the air

Still fill the chamber so reserved for frolic and frost and bells

And flaunts the dream before us, ‘til we’re caught within its spell,

Finding bright, new selves within, beribboned by the season,

With tinsel of good cheer and comfort, transcending any reason;

Forgetting for the moment confining earthly chains,

But kept aloft and soaring on the carolers’ refrains.

Despair is dead, and the awful haunts are for awhile unseen-

Encircled yet another year by wreaths of evergreen.

Christians are the ones whose job it is to show a dark, lost world that Christmas is not just for one season. We are to be the evergreen message that wafts its fragrance in mid-May. We are the tinsel that shines in July and September, the candles that glow with hope’s lovely warmth in February and the Fourth of July just as certainly as in December.

If it’s never occurred to you that it’s your job, take hold of the notion and claim it as truth. If you’ve never been able to do it before, believe that next year you can. A world is dying from our lack of awareness. Let us pay attention and stay evergreen throughout the year with the message of the Child that was born to shatter our yokes.

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!