You are coming.
Coming down to the mire, the muck, the murky waters where we’ve entrenched ourselves, slept so scared among the open night air, wondering what has become of this world, of us.
A streak of light into the sky, white stream of assurance, star in the night that shows us the way to You who folds Yourself down into swaddling in a stable strewn with stench of cows, dark, dank, carved in a cliff, detached from a town that didn’t have time or space for its Savior.
You are coming, in the small, unlooked for ways we never think to look for, the ways we don’t want to see. See this, soul, see the wonder, the grace, the upside-down way to right all our wrong. Be still enough to make room for Who is coming.
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