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He was the King of kings—yet in one of eternity’s most supreme ironies, He was homeless for a time. He had walked the golden streets of heaven—yet now he depended on the generosity of strangers for a place to rest when evening fell.
"Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." Matthew 8:20 NIV
FOX: I dig for refuge from the blazing sun.
Beneath this desert bush, cool is the loam;
Protected are my kits when day is done,
Here they are nurtured, in this earthy home.
BIRD: Each stick, each twig, each wispy bit of string
I gathered every one, and built this nest.
Within an oak, my fledglings sheltering,
It is a home with downy comfort blessed.
JESUS: O fox, O bird, when I created you
I gave you each a perfect domicile,
A place of comfort—even though I knew
I’d lose my home in heaven for a while.
SINNER: My Jesus, it’s for my guilt that You died.
My heart: your home—forevermore reside.
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