No Crib for His Bed

If you were born today, we'd kill you by age eight. —Jim Adkins

So God decided to wait a couple thousand years before having children.
He came down sometime in March looking for a virgin.
Found some chick named Mary from Massachusetts.
She said she wouldn’t mind carrying His child.
She went to the doctor for the first few checkups.
She even bought a crib.
But then her boyfriend got upset.
Her parents weren’t too sure about the whole thing.
So she changed her mind.
She just couldn’t take it.
She knelt down and asked that He let this cup pass from her.
But of course, that wasn’t His will.

So one spring morning on a
cold metal slab, she sat down.
And as a doctor reached his small, sturdy hand
inside her to rip Him from a uterus,
to cut that cord, to separate
mother and child,
church and state,
savior and world,
we all felt His pain.
We all fell on our face.

A few minutes later, the doctor removed his gloves,
wrote Mary a prescription.
And with the death of nothing but
a few cells, the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.