By Claudia Mair Burney
The people walking in darkness await you. We who are living in the land of the shadow of death have fixed our eyes to the sky for the dawning of your light. Strong God, coming in the fragile flesh of a baby, there is no room in the inn for your exhausted father and laboring mother. But we are here, watching for the light, scrambling to sweep our hearts clean, and flinging the doors to our messy lives wide open in the shadowy night.
“Come, Lord Jesus.”