Behold, he comes
along the
narrow path
and hidden from view.
To the small
people and places
known to only
a very few.
Not to New York or London;
not to Jerusalem.
But to Nazareth
and the million and one
other places
despised and forgotten.
I would do well
to acquaint myself
with my own
ordinary heart.
The forwarding address
of my soul
is not
where he’s headed.
Our God comes
to the real;
the unadorned
and unremarkable.
The you
of the homeplace;
the worn carpet
and the mildew.
If you’ve forgotten
the way:
relax.
Slow down
and listen.
Be still.
Behold, he will
meet you
there.