Debra Coppinger Hill

The Stranger stood alone above the clearing,
On this dark, still silent night.
And listened to the voices clear and strong,
Singing of a star so bright.

He rode on in and haled the cabin,
And much to his surprise,
Was met at the door, by a man with a beard,
And in the window, saw five pairs of eyes.

Come in, Friend, said the man of the house,
And join us, for we celebrate.
He found himself seated by a fire,
He was given food and he ate.

In the course of conversation,
It became abundantly clear,
That this family had very little,
Yet, they all welcomed him here.

With Oh Little Town of Bethlehem.
The woman sang the children to sleep.
Then four times placed a kiss in their hands,
And said Hold this tight while you sleep.

Then around a pot of thin coffee,
A story began to unfold,
Of sacrifice and hardship,
The Stranger felt honored being told.

It seems each time they'd been nearly out,
Of all of their supplies,
They had prayed for abundance,
And things would appear before their eyes.

Their prayers, they said, had been answered,
It had been a long time since he had seen,
People so anchored in their Faith,
No matter that times were lean.

He saw, as they prepared for morning,
That the larder was nearly bare,
Yet they did not give a second thought,
To sharing their meager fare.

The woman said there was enough flour,
That in the morning, they'd have a flap-jack feast,
Then they gave him their bed and said Merry Christmas,
And the Stranger felt happy and at peace.

When the woman awoke the next morning,
The Stranger had been gone an hour,
And in preparing for their Christmas breakfast,
She went to get the flour.

She went into the pantry,
And gave the barrel lid a pull
And could not hold back a gasp,
When she saw it, and the others, were full.

Now, there are scriptures I could quote you,
Of loaves and fishes and that God provides,
Or the one about abundance,
And through him being strengthened inside.

But the search that lies within us,
Teaches us, with Faith, we can persevere,
And that though Christ the Son , is often unseen,
He is always standing right here.

No proof can I give you,
Just a book of promises that He made.
That the Father will never forsake us,
And that His love never fades.

And there are those among us,
Who give their best with unselfish care,
And through their most innocent actions,
Have entertained Angels, unaware.

RED EARTH & GREEN WHEAT

He never saw the ocean,
But he had waves of grain,
And he made a life of farming,
God willing and come good rain.

In the dirt, he found his lifeblood,
For by no circumstance, it too was red.
It stained his hands and his heart,
Even the hat upon his head.

She never saw the ocean,
But she had waves of grain,
Never went to cotillion,
But she danced with him in the rain.

She never climbed a mountain,
But she kissed the open sky,
And laughed out loud and lived,
And looked at him and sighed.

He shared it all with her,
She worked there by his side,
They loved each other and the land,
That spread for miles so wide.

But, she went on before him,
And his heart, it did ache,
He sort of lost his will,
And time, his life, did take.

So we took him back, to the place he loved,
Where in the spring, the wheat green grows,
And buried him there next to her,
Beneath the dark red dirt and the snow.

Come spring, we will plant the land,
And the bins, we will be fillin',
And with luck, see them dance in the fields,
Come good rain, and God willin'.

( About the same folks...only one of those light moments that makes a place in your heart and sticks there. I still have a bottle of her Chantilly, and I take a whiff now and then to put things into perspective.)

MANURE & CHANTILLY

The way she looked,
I remember it well,
But even more,
I remember the smell.

She'd fix her hair and lipstick,
Put on a chambray shirt and jeans,
It was the same thing every morning,
The most familiar of scenes.

Then she'd do the one thing,
That gave her the sparkle of a new filly,
She'd open up that round bottle,
And sprinkle on Chantilly.

To us, it was wasted effort,
After all, she was headed out to farm,
At the end of the day, she'd be covered,
With all kinds of manure from the barn.

But, one day when the work was over,
And the evening meal was set,
Her husband said something,
That's inside my head yet...

He watched her as she cooked,
And as she sashayed by,
He said (breathing deep) "Don't she smell sweet, like work?"
And a twinkle came to his eye.

Suddenly I understood,
It made all her efforts worthwhile,
She had done it for Him,
And that broad, loving smile.

Well, it changed the outlook that I had,
And you might think it's silly,
But, I tell you, there's something to be said,
For the smell of manure and Chantilly.