lather, rinse, repeat (the sounding joy)

Oh, the wonders of His love. We sing or contemplate or overlook the phrases that have been written so many years ago to acknowledge a birth that is even older than those songs, but is there monotony? Only if the wonders are not truly wonderful. But, (and this is a big but), if those wonders are unceasingly growing in grandeur and scope, the simplest song, the lamest limerick, based upon these truths, will make one shudder with fear over how faintly the first feelings grasped the truths that are contained within those truths. And it is to that I raise my glass of Advent toasts and say "Dear God, I am so sorry for parsing lines without a heart. I wish I could look to the simplest song and realize how much your love lives in these little thoughts that are made to remind me of what you did in leaving your exalted estate, and joining my own rather wretched wreck of an existence." There is no reason for such condescension save a great love. For that love, I am ever in debt, and at the same time, always the richest man on earth.