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to the woman on the street-
smoking the dying embers of a cigarette
looking for the smallest trace of warmth...
Immanuel
to the downtown shoppers, with designer names and dreams, carrying all the anxiety of deadlines, of schedules,and of coming up short..
Immanuel
to the husband, looking into blue eyes of a best friend who doesn't remember.
Doesn't remember the date, doesn't remember watercolor paints,and doesn't remember the names of their children...
Immanuel
to the broken families, staring at where they would sit if they ever chose to come- meals divided over broken trust and broken hearts...
Immanuel
to the older brother and his sleeping sister,her white hands on white sheets, exhausted with the fight...
Immanuel
to the children singing with their bells, rosy cheeked and bright eyed, not knowing of the corrupt times in which they ring...
Immanuel
to the foreigner, miles away from his family, and worlds away from knowing his true Home...
Immanuel
to the doctor, silently bearing the grief and stoically bridging the void for three years since his passing, fighting back tears as she lays out the gifts alone...
Immanuel
to the soldier over seas, making the honorable commitment of a man while still being very much a boy...
Immanuel
to his mother and the loss of which she does not yet know.
Immanuel
to the career woman, alone on her catalog living room floor, with her catalog wine glass, and her catalog sweater, weeping over the things she cannot buy...
Immanuel
to the Honduran people. to the fatherless families crowding into their one room homes for one meal, wishing for one thing...
Immanuel
to all the weary travelers.
to all the broken vessels.
to all the empty hearts.
Immanuel.
GOD WITH US.
THEREFORE
the darkness does not win,
nor does it understand,
how in the midst of so much sadness
true Light has entered in.
*photograph by Beth Hedy Adams