" . . . and all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them." -- Luke 2:17
" . . . and no one shall snatch them out of the Father's hand." -- John 2O:28
A quiet night. We watched our flocks. I dozed.
A glow as soft as starlight washed the hill.
The sheep looked up from grazing.
Blinding light and brilliant song
cut the silent dark.
We gaped.
We stared.
Shimmering white, like music taking form, appeared.
Dancing stars of color encircled us, swirled around,
and angels sang of glorious joy.
We listened, overwhelmed, and tried to remember,
but the glory faded from our minds
like water spilled on the rocky hillside.
Uncertain and afraid,
we found our breaths.
One of us spoke:
Let us go and see this thing.
We ran, leaving our sheep to the now still and quiet night.
After a time, we came to their dark cave,
a musty stable,
lit by a single oil lantern.
They looked poor, like us; outcasts, like us.
The newborn slept on moldy straw.
The tired mother, surprised to see us,
loosed the swaddling clothes
for us to see his hands.
His fingers are strong, she said. Wide and long.
We saw and smiled.
This future king,
he has a shepherd's grip.
©1988 John Schreiber
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