Sometimes the gift comes
In wrappings of camel’s hair
And no one signed the card.
Sometimes the gift comes
Past the end of all our waiting
When we grow too tired to pray.
Sometimes the gift comes
When we’ve closed the doors
And packed away our hope.
Sometimes the gift comes
Delivered in a way we did not choose
And we’re not sure it’s for us.
Sometimes the gift comes
With dizzy suddenness, and aching
fingers
Can scarce take hold of it.
Sometimes the gift comes
Tingling with wonder
Now is the perfect time.
He will be prophet, bursting on men’s
sight,
And yet, to you, a joy and a
delight.
He is the longed-for son, your
heart’s own child
Though, for all others, wondrous
strange and wild …
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