When words you don't expect pour into the mundane moments, you listen. Listen hard. And write fast.
As "What Child is This?" flooded my ears, the Holy Spirit flooded my heart.
Maybe it was for you as much as it was for me…wherever you are.
"Wherever You Are"
Come peasant King…and all in-between to own Him.
Enthrone Him with your praise.
All that we are, all that we have, not merely voices, but LIVES we raise!
There is nothing that you have to do to earn this love, this grace.
Simply turn and look. There waiting, you'll see His face.
Breaking into your darkness, there is no need for shame.
Love He pours out over you, Mercy is His name.
He took on our broken form in the most vulnerable way.
The breath of this baby to be sacrificed, in Him all power to save.
Messiah in this tiny form, held in His mother's arms.
And then, He takes on MY wretched sin, allows my humanness to bring Him harm.
He scraped His knees, bumped His head, heart hurt and broken by by life.
He was a baby, a boy, a man- yet still God- allowing all the strife.
So, I cannot see this baby and leave Him in this humble bed.
Because through pain He walked where I should have been and took on death in my stead.
I celebrate His coming, this child breathed of God.
But that night is only the beginning of the story, the path that Grace would trod.
The chubby hands of this baby were the hands pierced for my soul.
The heartbeat felt, skin on a Mother's chest, pumped the blood that was foretold.
Yes, the joy found in those new life moments, made life accessible to me,
Because this baby,
He died to set me free!