December Seven Two Thousand Nineteen

You landed with the falling of the snow.

You arrived on the drifting winter clouds.

You awoke the broken notion of family.

You are synonymous 

with the mystery 

of Christmas.

You enchanted me 

with the way your eyes lit up at lights.

You favored the blinking ones,

daily pointed them out.

You were both welcome and strange,

the way I always hoped my life

would be rearranged.

When I think of that day,

twenty years ago,

there is nothing I would change.

There was no better way 

to celebrate this holiday,

the one about two people who adopt a baby,

the one about the God who promises to adopt

all who admit they need it, and then some,

the one about how everything is about family,

the one about the beginning of the end 

of orphanages.

You are both icon and brother,

symbol and friend.

You always remind me that the lights 

are not just for show.

So illuminate the night;

peel the dusk off of 

the earth.

Watch each corner of our green trees glow.

Demand the evening find its morning mirth,

ask the dark "How long do you expect to slow

the soul's cascading knowledge of its worth?"

How steadily grows

hope every heart finds hearth.

You landed with the falling of the snow.

You of all people know

family

is invitation 

to rebirth.