Down from Heaven's Glory to a Manger Bed

Here we are. Another year is floating silently and swiftly to its closing. Truly, as God ordained, "to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven". Whether a fair and bright song raised, or the cry of a dark and dismal refrain, they matter not to the hours that fly. In every circling year new things and lives abound, while the ever flowing tide of time obliterates the footprints of yesterday - "une rose elle a vecue ce que vivent les roses, l'espace d'un matin."

We soon walk onto the pristine path of a new year; sweet is the breath of its first new morn. We seek anew a primrose by a river's brim. A longing to find that yellow primrose, if only it brings a temporal gladness and nothing more. Knowingly for certain, awaiting us to bear at the bend are further Sisyphean tasks roiling with ambivalence, weighting down by wickedly violent Rasohmon POV. These are ever the burdens of Cain in our brilliant but strife-torn Godless world, away from the presence of the Lord.

For this year-end penultimate, may God open our eyes or reaffirm the yearning for an everlasting solace. That Christmas is the birth of Jesus, God's only begotten son, the physician and savior of the soul. Only Jesus can satisfy one's longing for everlasting joy and rest, calm the mind in worldly strife, and make the sinner whole for eternity with Him.

A parting thought on this Christmas season and the closing year,

"Down from Heaven's glory to a manger bed,
Crucified, Glorified; He was born to be our Savior."
In Excelsis Deo.