Prologue: Here are some poems that celebrate the birth of Christ.

         He Didn’t Ask . . .

He didn’t stick that star up there
To keep His Son all toasty warm.
(It’s what you’d call a low-heat star.)

He didn’t ask old Joe to hock
The shop for baby shower stuff.
(No need to hit the Christmas sales.)

No expectation that His mom
Would teach the boy Augustine’s thoughts.
(Can you pronounce anachronism ?)

But each was called to play their part:
The star to shine and herald His birth,
Old Joe to find a place to stay,
And Mary then to be a mom.

And each of us today is called. . . .

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     Reservations Encouraged

The Bethlehem motels were full.
Joe scratched his head and asked the man
Who ran the inn, “Where can we stay?”
“I’m sorry man. It’s always packed
Like this on Christmas eve.”

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                  Motel Me

I am the innkeeper of my own heart.
No one can stay if I don’t let him in.
      Whoever says that I don’t have that right,
      Better see God and take issue with Him.
Under the lease all the management rights
He has decreed are invested in me.

Him, even Him, I can bar from my inn.
Push Him around to the stable in back.