awaited consolation

The early dawn breaks

and the village awakes

with crude, intrusive noises.

Morning mist fills the littered air

with moistened streets,

dampening the hay

sitting just inside the door.

The gray hovers within

the low-lit room.

No lamps aglow this morning.

no shadows of shepherds

darkening the door.

No widened eyes peering

downward with unchecked curiosity,

in awestruck wonder,

 or sheep filling every crevice,

warming everyone

with their woolen presence.

Gone are the angels,

their voices, their multitudes,

their praises, their message.

Empty skies, silent fields,

once translated into excitement

in that low-lit room.

Stories told and re-told,

all in that same night.

A stream of drizzled water

now falls upon the fodder

beneath the resting feet

of the mother

watching the dreary world

from within

that low-lit room.

The dawning of this day

has sent them all away.

Persistent march of time,

moving forward, leaving behind

that silent, holy night

and bringing forth the return

of the noisy world,

with all its petty cares and plans

responsibilities, demands,

insignificant to

the night before.

Alone, uncertain,

exhausted, afraid.

What is next?

The night, as though a dream,

beautiful and sweet,

sacred, stunning, glorious…

is gone.

Without a trace,

it would seem.

The climax of a story ended?

The pinnacle of a mountain now descended?

She sighs.

Cool air brings a shiver,

and a quiver

to the Babe within her arms.

Startled, mother turns her gaze

upon Him, amazed,

to remember…

But He is still here.

He is still here!

A glance outside:

nothing has changed;

the world is still gray.

Yet everything has changed,

as she ponders,

in His face

the meaning…

the coming, the mystery,

the visitation, the certainty…

of Hope.

He is still here.

Another dawn breaks,

the world awakes,

with crude, intrusive noises.

Morning mist fills the littered air

with moistened streets,

and dampened hearts,

no longer warmed

by festivity, celebration,

distracted by gifts, by friends,

by special tradition

now completed.

Good tidings of the angels,

hurrying of the shepherds,

put away

until next year,

once again.

Real life resumes

within a weary world.

alone, uncertain,

exhausted, afraid.

The temporary of wrappings,

lackluster of trappings,

gatherings, refreshments, distractions…

vapors of comfort

extinguished by

return of routine.

The reminders of

emptiness, sadness,

worry and pain,

persistently reappear.

Are all balms so fleeting?

Then,

stillness falls upon my heart,

giving me a start.

Surprised, I turn my gaze

upon Him, amazed,

to remember…

But He is still here.

He is still here!

A glance about:

nothing has changed;

circumstances remain.

Yet everything has changed,

As I ponder

in His face

the meaning…

My Comfort, my Purpose,

My Consolation, My Hope,

My Praise.

And through the gray,

with moistened cheeks,

I rise to meet Him,

and find,

I am finally, fully satisfied.

He is still here!

“I will not leave you comfortless:

I will come to you.”

(John 14:18)

“I will never leave you,

nor forsake you.”

(Hebrews 13:5)