Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Expand.

There are plenty of things that make me wince. This week has been full of them. My heart is wore out.
.
I have nothing to say about any of this.
.
We went to a Christmas pageant at church that had a real camel and ponies and chickens, Roman guards that yelled at you, an inn with no room. I thought a rather unoriginal thought: a stable is a strange place to have a baby.
.
I wonder what Mary thought. I wonder if she had a tightness in her throat, hot tears burning in her eyes. Riding on a donkey, belly contracting; knocking on door after door.
.
Nothing is ever like we expect. Sometimes more beautiful, sometimes much less.
.
I think of my dad when I think of the night Jesus was born. He used to stand inside the barn before the sun had risen and look up at the night sky. So big. Stantions of cows behind him; I can smell their smell. I can hear them. He says it must have been beautiful.
.
His heart is my heart. I think it must have been beautiful too.
.
Other people say it was filthy and crude. But he was born within me and I was much more filthy.
.
This is the final week of Advent, and this makes no sense. Jesus, man of sorrows, you understand me. Just stay.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Goosebumps. Pure. Silence.


Tu Papi'