Unto Us a Son is Given

Given, not lent,
And not withdrawn - once sent,
This Infant of mankind, this One,
Is still the little welcome Son.

New every year,
New born and newly dear,
He comes with tidings and a song,
The ages long, the ages long;

Even as the cold
Keen winter grows not old,
As childhood is fresh, foreseen,
And spring in the familiar green.

Sudden as sweet
Come the expected feet.
All joy is young, and new all art,
And He, too, whom we have by heart.


by Alice Meynell,  1847-1922


Merry Christmas.  This year Christmas week was a bit different than most.  Most of our family got quite sick.  As I was sitting on the couch barely able to talk or think, I said in jest,  "Where is the Christmas cheer?"  Most Christmases we are busy cooking, caroling, and planning surprises for the children, but this year we were fixing flu tea and filling the vaporizers and reading to sick children.  So it was quite different this year, but it made me think about all those who are suffering while others are merrymaking. The answer to my question is from our Christmas play this year. "Christmas is not a time or a place."  I knew the answer when I asked it.  Rather, Christmas is a reality to be embraced, that God loves us so much that He became one of us and dwelt among us.  He came hidden as a little Babe, born in a cave.  He is gentle, and He gently calls us to Himself.  He invites us to be friends.  So we rejoice even when we are in various trials.