The King Has Come!

An angel appeared, swift in the night
A warrior tall and full of light
Said don’t be scared! For God will come
You’re son, Mary, He’s the one!

The family traveled to Joseph’s land
Bethlehem town in God’s own hand
A little stable which held the least
So they nestled with the friendly beasts

Newborn babe in manger slept
With Mom and Dad safe they kept
God came down to bring us near
Great joy to all the people here

All the while a star shone bright
And Shepherds all beheld the light
Angels sang behind lowly hills
He’s come! He’s come! You must be still!

The shepherd’s ran to see the One
And gasped when they saw Heaven’s son
Wise men traveled on camels far
All because that lovely star

A rescuer! They whisper soft
Child on high from Heaven’s loft
A king they say he’ll grow to be
One side of the Holy three

A palace? No a homeless man
Poor of spirit though not of plan
The blind will see, the lame will leap!
To rule with service, our hearts to keep

Sad will perish, hate will cease
All the world will know is peace
What fear of death we oft live by
But he says this! Death too will die!

Born to rags though really king
Heaven fell soft and earth did sing
His name decrees he’s God with us
A Prince of Peace, his sword is just

God came down as little child
Be careful though, this lion’s wild
The world will know his boastful fame
And all will bow at Jesus’ Name!

The world will know his boastful fame
And all will bow at Jesus’ Name!

You and me, will bow at Jesus’ Name!

A Door that’s Painted Red

The church I have called home for the last two years is called Red Door. Here’s what that name means to me:

There she goes.
Wandering again.
Tired, weak and
hoping.

She is looking for something,
But cannot put a name to it.
All she knows is that she desperately needs it.
That she cannot live without it.

The road has become her home.
The road is like a poem,
she wrote many years ago
and forgot to finish.

Travelers, like her, know about the road.
They know its dangers.
How it whispers to the weary with
words that mean anything but rest.

* * * * * *

Perhaps then, Heaven is an entryway.
A place of unconditional welcome.
Of shelter and of solace.
A door that’s painted red.

* * * * *

After months of traveling,
Her body is giving way.
She is worn and battered.
Bloodied and bruised.

But up ahead, she can see such a door.
While her legs ache, she cannot
help but run. While she thinks of her past,
she cannot help but hope.

There it is! The symbol of passover.
A hue that the angel of death saw
and kept moving. The very color
that means “refuge from death!”

She falls to her knees, weeping.
She now knows the name she was missing.
What she was desperately needing.
She knows who painted the door red.