The Stable

Sorry I haven't been out much to clean up...it's been so cold.
I haven't changed the straw though it needs it, but there's
some fresh stuff in the corner I'll spread on top real quick.

I know there's nothing here to make you really comfortable, except
if you call the warmth of stinky animals and the pokiness of straw
comfort. 

You created them, though, so maybe You do.

There was a wind storm here last week and everything's out of place.
Last month the hens caught some disease...nearly lost them all.
Nearly lost all hope.

Really, I don't know why You'd ever want to come here, especially
if You knew what You were getting in to.

It's a far cry from where You've been.  Really far.

The air on Your skin, You've never had skin before so You couldn't
feel air on it, full of cold and yet warmth of touch, warmth of breath, warmth of life.

The filth.  The sorrow.  The messes.  You, Whose very being
is Perfection.

I don't know why You would.

But please....if You so choose.

Come.  Into this here mess of a stable.

This needy heart.

Be born and dwell in me.