Holy Child of mystery,
I prepare a place for you.
I remodel the inn of my heart.
I clear a roomand let go of many things.
I fashion a crib of finest wood.
I make a space that is just for you,
and open it up each day,
and in stillness I wait—
until I find that in darkness of night
beneath my knowing or waking,
in cold and poverty,without place at all,
you have already come
and lie waiting in someunexpected manger.