Amateurish Moves

"...Her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger." (Luke 2:7)

I have to start with Christmas Eve, of course. We were gathering that morning when I received a text from a friend with pictures of her newborn, wrapped in cloths and showing off his mommy-daddy features. I've never been much of a queasy baby-freak, but the closer I feel to a friend, the more my heart seems to leap these days at the thought of their hearts multiplying to form new life. All throughout the morning gathering, as Eric and I led the church in singing Christmas worship songs, my eyes could not help but wander to visions of this newborn: imagining that our baby Jesus was as real, and as born, as the little guy on my iPhone. Trying to grasp that our baby Jesus was as real, and as born. 

When I was driving by my mommy-friend's home a handful of days later, I had the sudden thought that I should stop by! It felt so cozy to slip into her front door, to hide out there with our soft voices and the glow of Christmas tree lights and decorations lingering. I lifted her five-day-old child from his rest with a fumbl-y, but confident, wiggle of both my hands and forearms until he was rested against me, warm and secure, and then we laughed about my amateurish moves :)

I wonder about Mary. How did her amateurish hands move when she lifted her newborn son for the first time to not only place him in a manger, but wrap him in cloths? Did she fumble? Did she laugh? Did she tremble as she wondered if what she had to offer was enough? Two more times in Luke 3, the scriptures say that she "pondered them in her heart" or "these things in her heart," and I want to know what was in there: in her heart, that is. I want to know of this treasure she stored up and just more about the woman who moved so quickly from fear to faith in the presence of angels and had the courage to mother Christ.

The previous chapter referred to the "tender mercy of our God," and these reflections give imagery to that mercy, don't they? For the God we rejected in the garden, the God with power to create, and bless, and curse, and redeem us, used His own mighty hands to write a story where the amateurish hands of a woman would hold him in his most vulnerable state: would wrap him, or confine and comfort him. What kind of madness is that? What kind of privilege and love and trust is that? Before we were worthy, He entrusted even Himself to our care.

Thinking back to yesterday, I have to close with this final thought: the creator of humankind allowed humankind to "create" Him. Again, what madness and love...?

God, I thank you that while Genesis 1 and 2 seemed to end so abruptly in the fall of 3, you always planned for Jesus. You always intended to be so near to us, connected to us so closely as in a mother's womb and arms. Even now, your presence resides, quite literally, in our hearts, and how I long to feel the warmth of you there, more and more, like a mother longs to feel her child move... to wonder and to marvel at the miracle of it all. Be near to me, God. Open my eyes to see more of your mercy, and to know more of your story.