My dear friend, Brynna, provided this poem for my series. A talented poet and fantastic blogger, you can read more of her work on her blog, here.
May her words stir us to think of Jesus as he really is, not as a symbol of a holiday that makes for pleasant decorations and stirs up warm thoughts for a few weeks, only to be packed away and forgotten until next time; but as the living God, our God, who’s rightful place is the center of our lives.

Nativity
By Brynna King

No ear may hear His coming, but in this world
of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still, the
dear Christ enters in.
–from “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” by
Phillips Brooks

How silently, how silently —
but they
do not sleep silently,
do they?
This babe emits
tiny grunts, rattling
breaths that resolve to
soft coos,
deep hums,
a kick and he’s woken
himself

to ten sets of painted eyes
hard-set into porcelain,
half of them fixed on him,
mother’s gaze softest,
and some with sights lifted to the
always-singing angel.

But to fireclay ears,
all is silent.

From oven-baked lips, nothing
cries.

Who molded this
Potter into clay
and told him to
stay?

Who took a clamorous barn
and froze it atop
a low bookshelf,
mute?

I see.

It was me.