Stars are something that always pique my sense of wonder and amazement. And I think they make a wonderful metaphor for Christ and some of the lessons we can take from this Christmas season.
In the bustle of the trees
The presents, the wrapping,
The parties, the traveling,
The fun and the family,
Don’t forget the stars.
The stars that remind you
Of the first Christmas,
And of the shepherds who left their flocks
To witness the Lamb of God.
The stars that belong together,
And remind us of the Shephard’s flock.
There are lambs left to be gathered
Even when the tree is packed away.
The stars that point us ever onward,
That show to us the Way,
Our path back home,
And the covenant mile markers.
The stars that I hope we each see,
This Christmas season,
As we reflect on the Light of the world,
And our sky He lights with stars.
Sent home from my mission Aug 07, 2017
The poem I want to share with you this week is one I wrote half of in the MTC around Christmastime, and I finished the rest of it out in the mission field. I thought about what kind of person I would be if I lived in the time of Christ—would I be a shepherd who went and worshiped the baby Jesus, or would I be one of the hundreds or thousands of other people in Bethlehem to whom this was just another baby?
Would I See Him?
If I’d walked the roads of Palestine
in older, simpler years,
would I have seen a man
drying people’s tears?
Would I listen to His words
and choose to follow where He goes,
or would I spit on Him, reject Him,
there in Calvary, alone?
If I’d walked the roads of Bethlehem
on a certain silent night,
Would I have seen a baby
in swaddling clothes wrapped tight?
Would I have knelt and sang his praise
and worshiped Him, my Christ, that day,
or would I have been too busy
and continued on my way?
And in the paths I’m on today
in this loud and noisy world,
do I make time to see my Savior
and His gospel flag unfurled?
To pray for truth, and seek His grace
and follow what He taught,
or will I never feel His hand in mine
and do the works He wrought?
As I seek to walk His paths,
and simply serve my brother,
will someone see me, and notice
as I try to help another?
Will they see my work and think of Him
who served us each so selflessly?
I don’t know, but I did my part
And I that’s enough for me.
Originally published 07-07-19
I submitted this poem for consideration in the new hymnbook as a hymn.
Hosanna to the Son of David
A baby boy lay sleeping in an inn at Bethlehem,
And nearby, angels sang their song of peace, goodwill to men:
CHORUS: Hosanna to the Son of David, come in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest, glory be to God.
The multitudes flocked to the mount to learn great truths from Him.
They followed as He blessed the meek, and sang in praise this hymn:
When Jesus rode a humble colt into Jerusalem,
The joyful crowd waved palm branches and cried unto His name:
When soldiers took away the Christ, the crowd grew sparse and small.
And gone were all the hopeful throngs who once had cheered and called:
Although the cross stood on a hill, no multitudes there came.
Though Christ atoned for all their sins, no grateful voices sang:
He rose again, the third day passed, death’s victory was gone.
For justice had been answered, and our Advocate had won:
We take His body and His blood and promise as we do
That though the road is long and hard, we always will be true: