We look for signs in the stars in the open places
which sing of your coming of our great hope.
We look towards the story anticipating
a promise of loves bound touching the earth.
Healing broken places and binding our wounds.
Born of care and worry, come in equity to surround us.
The least shall be first, the hungry fed, the weak strengthened.
We search for the sign our whole lives, trusting, hoping, waiting
for just that one peek at a promise so foolishly scandalous.
It makes not sense.  It makes no proud earthly sense.
That a babe comes unprotected to a cattle stall.
That the first ones to see and worship are rogue shepherds.
That they have to flee to Egypt, that they make the trip
unsheltered, unprotected, out in a cruel world.
Most of the time loves song never survives this harsh world.
Because it is born in the unexpected and unlooked for places
of the heart.  We always have to look for its signs.
Yet oh when found, the joy and hope it brings
to a weary dying world needing the message of loves song.
Born in the simplest place among poor people
who dare to risk being the bearers of love to the world.