Silent Night 

Silent night.

That’s what we sing when dawn comes late and the snow piles deep.

Yet, it’s not silent anymore. It’s not silent.

Between the war cries and the worn mothers; between the drunken fathers and the scared daughters;  between the fearful and frail; between the midnight phone call and the ambulance lights; the night is not silent.

I step out in this today. We step out in this today. We. Me and you step out with reigning Jesus in our strides and hell’s fire scorching corners.

I’m boarding a train starting something today. Starting a long walk to learn rules so people can get a fair shake. It’s a small piece and you have yours too. But I’m boarding a train today between the silent night and hell scorched corners.

I hope to be a blessing.

I hope I can look an old woman in the face and say, “I’m fighting for you today.” Because her sons are gone and so is her husband.

I hope I can take a scared father by the hand and say “we can fight this.” Because money sometimes wins but I still want to fight.

I hope I can do this for them: the ones that are scared. I hope I can do this for those who think a fair shake is for better yards and better schools. They of course have neither.

I hope I can do this because a man did this for me. He did much more but He did not do less. He came and still comes to my shaky limbs. He sits across the legal pad and takes all my strikes. He takes all my words. And then He looks at me, the same way He looks at you, and says “it’s finished.”

I hope I can do these things. I’ve never known a love so warm.

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