Breathe

I wake.  It is cold.  I turn the coffee on.  There are but two tiny embers in the fireplace, the warming fire from yesterday almost gone.  I stack three little slivers of poplar on the two still hopefuls and sit down with my coffee and The Ancient Text, Isaiah 59-63.  My lover awakes and lays still under the covers. A small light brightens our home, the slivers have become fire.  We talk of the miracle.  We can now be safe, warm, see, and cook for the day.  How can in a void, such miraculous Brilliance bring forth the idea of trees, wood, fire and then be so Kind as to cover the earth with them.  A fire is as hope-filled as Christmas can bring, our Holy Light has come into our world.  I think this old hymn, “Breathe on me, breathe on me.  Holy Spirit breathe on me.”  I feed the fire and we lay in silence, enjoying our Christmas fire Lord.  

The tiny light that came into our world.