“No Room for Him …”

Somewhere behind the crackle of the fire,

the music of each old loved Christmas hymn,

the rush of buying gifts,

the tall green tree to trim,

the maddening crowd of Christmas joys

families, food, enchanting toys.

The day explodes in cheer,

wears on in companionship

and laughter.

 

Our cup’s filled to the brim.

Then dusk, and after

the long day’s crush

in that exhausted hush

before sleep,

we know that once again we’ve made

“no room for Him.”

 

Taken by permission and adapted from “Clouds are the Dust of His Feet,” by Ruth Bell Graham. ©1992, The Ruth Bell Graham Literary Trust.