are often most mundane.
Every child is a child of God.
Revelation tends to come roughshod,
Rudely lying in, in Bethlehem.
Yet if God walked the Earth and then was slain,
Coming, like us all, encased in sod,
His holiness wrapped wholly in a clod,
Reason could not such a case sustain.
In faith alone can miracles be true,
Summoned to a certain time and place
To crack the mountain open to its well.
Mysteries hide Being from our view
As some go out to greet it face to face.
So it was one time in Israel.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon