Okay, so I haven't been able to get this song out of my head.
It was not a silent night...
The town was full with those who had come to be registered for Caesar's census. The crowded inn left them with no other choice than a stable. No soft bed. No room to call their own.
And gentle lullabies from cattle lowing in the stalls? - Hardly.
No midwife...no mother's hand to hold...
Perhaps it all seemed wrong. This was no place, no way to give birth to a baby. Especially not this One.
...The baby in her womb, He was the maker of the moon
He was the Author of the Faith that could make the mountains move...
Could they understand the full impact of the miracle they were a part of?
...And the stable was not clean...
I think of the farm I used to work at. I picture the barn, with its hay, its layers of dust, and its musty smells. This is no place for a woman to give birth. My mind's eye goes to the trough where we'd put hay for the goats. That is no place for a newborn. But it was in a manger - a feeding trough - that she put her baby, our King.
Sometimes I can hardly wrap my mind around the fact that God, the Maker of heaven and earth and us, chose to be born in such humble circumstances.
But I love that He did.
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