A Plea

Oh come, come, Emmanuel.

I think I need you more and more the older I get.

I need you, Jesus, more than hot cocoa, fake snow, real snow, a good show, caroling, stockings on the mantel, and tea lights in the window.

What perverse part of me ever supposed that those things matter, that without them, I am somehow missing out on Christmas?

No, what I need and what I got was dirty hay, a draughty cave, and the Savior of the world.

Come, Emmanuel.