The Day After Christmas


I want to worship the next baby I see.

I don't care whether it’s a girl or a boy,

brought forth in a stable or a subway station, 

rich or poor, amber, peach, or burnt umber.

I don't care if it’s your child or mine,

human or divine, I just want to worship 

whoever is crying the first Word.

I am hungry for the bread of original 

innocence, the fallen star of her face

gazing up into my eyes, making them

equally wonderful this morning. 

Let me bow down and press her 

butterscotch soles to my forehead,

and give her the gift of golden laughter,

the frankincense of this breath,

myrrh that oozes from a broken heart.

I am thirsty to hear the suck of milk  

from a nipple this morning, the sound

of the tender generous bruise 

that makes any morning holy.

I won't wait for moons and planets 

to align, or for the Messiah.

How many evenings and dawns 

have I already missed her,  

looking for someone else?

Whether the child is yours or mine,

 human or divine, a citizen of this

nation or that nation, I don't care.

We are all natives of Christ's Kingdom.

Just let me worship the next baby 

I see.

__________________

You can listen to this poem HERE
Photo: my first daughter Abigail, whose name 
in Hebrew means, "My Father's Joy."