From Stable to Empty Tomb

In a borrowed stable, under winter's breath, a child was born to carry

death. No cradle of gold, just straw and stone.

Mary's boy in a world unknown. Joseph's hands, calloused and poor, built a life

behind a carpenter's door. No home to claim, no fields to

sow. They wandered roads where the wild winds blow. Preaching a kingdom

the blind couldn't see, love for the lost and mercy for free.

They called him mad, they called him fraud, but he spoke

the heart of a jealous God. He walked the dust,