Christmas 2020 Byron Hoot In the short days, long, cold winter nights the urge for change turns deep inside. Some old story starts to be told of hope. Some woman, barely more than a girl, some man old enough to be her father wed in the wedlock of the divine: she pregnant with unknown meaning. . . A man, a woman, a child unborn and a perilous journey across land, against law and custom. Lodged, they sleep with the warmth of animals. Some star, unseen before, guides Magi and shepherds to a manger. A child, a son is born confirming the forgotten birthright of the divinely-human. Then dreams and warnings, the flight into the unknown, the killing of the innocents. Our desire is to see the young-bride, the father who is not the father, the child arrive safely in exile. In the short days, long, cold nights of winter, this story arrives and we are pleased and troubled, put at ease and dis-ease at how the story came to be and what it means.