Behold.

Sometimes we arrive at Christmas like the shepherds.

Wide eyed.

Breathless.

A can't-get-the-words-out-fast-enough excitement drips off of them. 

Hands gesture.

Stories explode. 

And then a hush.

Their eyes fall on the baby.

And sometimes we arrive at Christmas like the wisemen.

Bone weary.

Dogged by questions

Every step of the too long journey.

 Is this the place?

Are we too late?

Is this gift enough? 

A tentative knock on a strange door.

They try to explain

The hope, 

The star, 

What brought them here.

But words fade and cease.

Because their eyes see the child.

And here the stories converge.

For shepherds and wisemen, 

Rich and poor,

Then and now. 

Knees buckle,

Grind into earth.

Hearts bow in worship.

Gratitude streams down cheeks.

And it no longer matters

Whether the journey here was a dash across town

Or a trek across deserts.

He's here.

And we behold.

This is enough.