Themes for me this year: Removing clutter in order to focus. Going small to be able to see. Downsizing schedule and scope to allow more spiritual space. Having a tiny Christmas.
In the quiet space of this morning, I remembered an infant’s touch. Isn’t it amazing how from the minute a baby is born they know how to touch? I remember as I was parenting my three children marveling at how physical parenting was. All that constant touching, holding and changing of clothes and diapers; all that drool and contact. You can’t get away from it. You can’t stay clean. You just allow yourself to be one with the child and all that comes with them.
The touch of a newborn…the way the baby wraps a tiny hand around your finger. The baby can’t hold you there, you are stronger. You can barely even feel it really. It’s this gentle, soft, subtle phenomenon.
It reminds me of some other things. Like being outside when the sun comes out on a gray day and you hardly notice it at first and then you feel something a tad bit warmer on your face. You look up. It’s light. Stars do that. They don’t seem to be there as the dusk heads into darkness. Then, there they are, one after the other; age-old beacons of light and hope.
God went tiny, gentle, subtle, small and star-like for us. When God wanted to grasp our hearts and souls, God touched us like an infant does. That’s it.
Our world is so big, loud, scary and just overblown. Every day, assorted media reports sadden, anger and terrify me. My own life and vivid imaginings do too. Sometimes my heart cries out wondering where God is in all of it.
And then, in a way I can sometimes hardly perceive, the brush of angel wings, the warmth of light and this tiny sweet infant touch, holding me.
The quieter I am, the more I see. When I am still, listening, waiting and open, I feel God’s gentle hold on me. I pray it for you, too, this Christmas; that somewhere in the noise and activity; the much-ness of it all, that you will stop, breathe and feel the newborn hand, barely there, holding you.