A Christ's Mass Eve Story

It was Christ's Mass Eve night
I was all alone
And in my customary mode,
A bit pensive
In my humble abode.

The fire was burning bright
Casting shadows on the wall,
Filling up my mind
With long, long ago recalls.

I thought of many loved ones
Some departed many years,
Of souls like me who've wandered
Through many joys and many tears.

The night was still enough to hear
The dropping of a pin,
So cold and bitter out of doors,
So cozy warm within.

That stillness changed so suddenly
Replaced by howling winds,
The golden grasses lying flat,
The trees with bending limbs.

All creatures ran for cover,
Chilled to the marrow of their bones,
More logs I placed upon the fire,
That blue norther wailed and moaned

It was a night not fit for man nor beast,
Thus my sudden, startled surprise,
Some stranger knocking on my door
On such a dreadful night?

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I bid the man to enter,
Served him bread and sweet, hot tea.
Then he opened up my heart and mind
With things he spoke to me.

He had no coat he had no gloves,
Not tall and very lean,
His shoes were worn his shirt was torn
And holes were in his jeans

Such kindness dwelt upon his face
I had not one single fear,
I'd never seen such gentle grace,
He spoke, I paused to hear.

His words were chosen carefully,
Flowing gently, pure, and kind,
He spoke about so many things,
Things that had never crossed my mind.

He spoke about creation,
About the minds of God and men.
He told me how the stars were born
And how the world began.

He spoke of human destiny,
And where we go from here,
His words shown like beams of light,
Existence became so clear.

He unraveled every tangled web
Of fear and guilt and doubt.
He told me a thousand things
To live with and live without.

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He spoke of a Redeemer
Born two thousand years ago,
He explained it all so simply
I knew every word was so.

The fire was bright and warm,
I was at such wondrous peace,
I drank his words with thirsty joy
Then drifted off to sleep.

Sometime in the night
The firelight waned and died.
The stranger had departed,
I rushed to look outside.

I know mysteries appear,
I know mysteries come and go.
I know when I looked out the window
There was not one track in the snow.

That Christ's Mass Eve those years ago,
By far the best I've spent,
Though I never knew that stranger's name,
And never knew where he went.

Written by Bill Worrell - New Art, Texas
Published with his permission.