On the Other Hand…

Let’s everybody pick up stakes and go back to the place of our birth so’s we can be taxed and counted by Caes— by the government. There’ll be so many trains planes steamers—uh diesels—and automobiles moving over land sea and air that the angels will have a hard time keeping track of it all. (This presumes that universal physical laws and materiality are charged to great disciplined beings continually moving to carry out their respective stewardship.)


God has got to arrive with the rest of us so that He (as in this event) can be counted, taxed, and born into a feeding trough. The trough because—with all these millions traveling (in order to be counted) — there’s going to be no room for Him in the Motel 8.

Fortunately, at this time of year (in these parts predicted 29°F and mostly sunny) the baby’s Father has seen to it that (also in these parts) the miracle of heating, lights and plumbing are operable (pretty much, and at least for the next few days) so’s, unlike our more hardy ancestors, we don’t have to go outside to use the er bathroom. Such is the state of the materiality in these parts at this time …. All’s good if your place of birth means you are heading this way (provided your camper has a port-a-potty). And, of course, the trip’s important because those taxes are what pay for the roads and other infrastructure to make it all happen, not just for office persons to study social problems (or whatever) and then discard their findings when funding is cut.

But God in human form is coming to help with all this. I’m trying to get ready for Him, but my own heart has been an awful feeding trough of late. I don’t know just how comfortable He’s going to find it. On the other hand … He’ll only be a baby so how much is He going to know? He may not be able to tell what a hog I am.

The Scripture says he’ll have things figured out as he goes along…. I’m not sure how much I’m gonna be wanting him to see me once he’s all grown—an adult—how does that even happen!? I think he’ll have me pretty well pegged … so I’ll be in hiding by then.

On the third hand … hiding may not be the thing. I know for sure I’m gonna wanna see him—if for no other reason than, well, to see Him. (I’ve heard about what’ll happen to Zacchaeus—so the hiding’s not gonna work.)

But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself here. I should stop drinking this coffee and start shoveling stuff I’ll need into the car. It’s a long way from Maine to Ohio—to get there in one day we’ll have to push it and I hear the traffic’s gonna be murder (as they said in 1940s Cleveland).

Joy to you, friends!

Sing unto God. Sing praises to his name: extol him that rideth upon the heavens by his name YAH, and rejoice before him! (Evermore)

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