The Stranger stood alone above the clearing, 
On this dark, still silent night. 
And listened to the voices clear and strong, 
Singing of a star so bright. 

He rode on in and haled the cabin, 
And much to his surprise, 
Was met at the door, by a man with a beard, 
And in the window, saw five pairs of eyes. 

Come in, Friend, said the man of the house, 
And join us, for we celebrate. 
He found himself seated by a fire, 
He was given food and he ate. 

In the course of conversation, 
It became abundantly clear, 
That this family had very little, 
Yet, they all welcomed him here. 

With Oh Little Town of Bethlehem. 
The woman sang the children to sleep. 
Then four times placed a kiss in their hands, 
And said Hold this tight while you sleep. 

Then around a pot of thin coffee, 
A story began to unfold, 
Of sacrifice and hardship, 
The Stranger felt honored being told. 

It seems each time they'd been nearly out, 
Of all of their supplies, 
They had prayed for abundance, 
And things would appear before their eyes. 

Their prayers, they said, had been answered, 
It had been a long time since he had seen, 
People so anchored in their Faith, 
No matter that times were lean. 

He saw, as they prepared for morning, 
That the larder was nearly bare, 
Yet they did not give a second thought, 
To sharing their meager fare. 

The woman said there was enough flour, 
That in the morning, they'd have a flap-jack feast, 
Then they gave him their bed and said Merry Christmas, 
And the Stranger felt happy and at peace. 

When the woman awoke the next morning, 
The Stranger had been gone an hour, 
And in preparing for their Christmas breakfast, 
She went to get the flour. 

She went into the pantry, 
And gave the barrel lid a pull 
And could not hold back a gasp, 
When she saw it, and the others, were full. 

Now, there are scriptures I could quote you, 
Of loaves and fishes and that God provides, 
Or the one about abundance, 
And through him being strengthened inside. 

But the search that lies within us, 
Teaches us, with Faith, we can persevere, 
And that though Christ the Son , is often unseen, 
He is always standing right here. 

No proof can I give you, 
Just a book of promises that He made. 
That the Father will never forsake us, 
And that His love never fades. 

And there are those among us, 
Who give their best with unselfish care, 
And through their most innocent actions, 
Have entertained Angels, unaware. 
  

     Debra Coppinger Hill © Copyright 1997 
All Rights  Reserved