Living above the stars, the heartbroken Creator put on his flesh suit, becoming a little unheralded baby; wrapped in swaddling clothes, wrapped even more in love; laid in a manger, laid before that on the crimson stained foundation of the world. O holy night.

Living beneath the stars, the heartwarming savior placed his warm hands on the cold arms of the dead, life flourished again; withered dreams burgeoned like roses out of winter; he reached for the bruised reeds of society and gave them more than hope, he gave them power and purpose. O Holy life.

Living without the stars, hurting souls of our age wander aimlessly through cloud covered days. But light extends from the manger of his first birth to the mountain of his second coming. Someday soon every eye will see Him. Someday soon his first steps as a baby, long ago, will conclude with his last stand on the Mount of Olives as the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. O Holy Sight. What a day that will be!!

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