If Christmas were perfect,
I wouldn’t need Jesus.

If I could find (and afford)
just exactly the right gift
to express my love
and define my relationships,
I’d never know I have nothing to give.

If I could bake and buy and eat
all the Christmas goodies I wanted,
I’d ignore the hunger of my soul.

If I could be together with everyone I loved –
if all were only laughter, gentle words,
deep conversations, met expectations,
warm hugs and delightful differences –
I’d silence my plea for grace
and forgiveness, patience and redemption.

If I could balance noise with quiet,
rush with relax, work with play,
I’d overlook my need for wisdom.

If I could manufacture joy,
I’d never own my pain.

If I could produce peace,
I wouldn’t need its Prince.

It’s only when the shirt’s too small,
the chequebook’s overdrawn, time’s too short,
and the dessert’s too rich,
when loved ones disappoint, tensions erupt,
and deep aches awaken,
when tears replace laughter, failure fights with pride,
and disinterest smothers hope,
that Jesus is born
in the manger of my desires.

O, come, let us adore Him,
Christ the Lord.

By Margi Hollingshead, 1991