I'm weary, Lord.

Bone tired.

In spite of the fact that my shopping's half done I need to crash.

The crush

of the crowd has gotten to me.

So, too, the deafening sounds

of a pre-Christmas city

throbbing with incarnate greed.

I need to be reminded

that this season's more

than plastic Santas,

perpetual sales,

and Muzak.

I need back

on the track

of reflection.

I've derailed, Lord.

My emotional fuel is leaking.

I'm about to explode.

And then I see it.

A miniature creche

in a gift shop window.

A guardian father;

a grateful young mom;

a baby asleep on the hay.

A trio maintaining their harmony

despite the dis-chord all around them.

And with my nose pressed against the frosted pane my inner pain subsides.

At once I am rested,

renewed, and revived.

And I linger

and ponder

God's peace.

By Greg Asimakoupoulous