Thine advent here III

Housekeeper

This is my little town,

My Bethlehem,

And here, if anywhere,

My Christ Child

Will be born.

I must begin

To go about my day--

Sweep out the inn,

Get fresh hay for the manger 

And be sure

To leave my heart ajar

In case there may be travelers

From afar.

Elizabeth Rooney

I guess I have never thought about that, "Let every heart prepare him room" as a reference to the inn incident.  As much as advent is a time for anticipation, though, it ought also to be a time of preparation.  If we truly receive our Saviour, we receive him little baby and all.  Often the last thing I want hanging around my heart is the reminder that I, too, must become like a little child (though not in the ways I normally become like a little child: fussy, whiny, selfish, stinky), must accept infancy with all its admitted helplessness, vulnerability, dependency.