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Belo sur Tsiribihina May you ponder the true wonder of Christmas.
I can’t look at the cradle
Without looking to the cross
Both made from wood
Both cut from a tree
Both such a humble place
To find the King of Kings.
I can’t think about the birth
Without thinking about His death
In both I rejoice
In both He proclaims
His obedience to God’s will.
Mary’s tears
Tears of joy, tears of pain
Her son born to die
Her son born to rise again.
I can’t look at His Word
Without looking to my sin
It pierces my heart
Just as the nails pierced His hands
So long ago.
The cradle and the cross
Both memories of His love
Humble enough to become man
Holy enough to conquer sin.
I can’t think about His humble birth Without being awed by His holiness
Holiness He offers to
Those who believe
In the cradle and the cross.
