He came as a baby

I see.
Jeeeshus.
There.

There.

Each and every morning, it is the same thing.
As we enter the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, he spots him.


I see.
Jeeshus.
There.

There.

Our nativity is set on the window-sill that is between our kitchen and living room.  As I pull it off the shelf for the little hands to carefully explore, he moves me.

He points out his toes, his fingers, his eyes, his hat.  He touches his nose, his mouth, his knees, while gently and lovingly naming each part.  He had a body.  This is something I often forget.

Our Creator of the Universe, came to us, in a body.  But not a body of a mighty gladiator, strong in might to force a revolution.  Rather, as a teeny baby---innocent and vulnerable--with 10 fingers and 10 toes, whose earthly mother and father surely counted on a regular basis, like enamored parents do.  A baby who relied on the care and love from his family, and who, as he grew into a man, continued to invite a voluntary relationship of love.

Connor strains, and wiggles, and writhes to get a glimpse of this Holy Mystery each and every morning, not out of duty or obligation or guilt, but simply out of curious love.  May I too, like this toddler who understands, really understands...ask to see.  I want to see, touch, and understand.