Silent. Humble. Purposeful.

Today in church I sat behind a young couple with a newborn son. A freshly arrived, still wrinkly, head bobbing, thinly and unplump, sweet as can be, newborn. I could just eat him up. Kiss all his fingers and toes, inhale his baby scent, and eat him up. His mother shifted him in her arms and he did that amazing instinctive thing. He nuzzled his face right into her neck. I could have died.

Those were amazing days. The early days. Now I will be the first to admit I am not a wonderful person when I am lacking rest. So they were tough. But nothing in this world can compare to holding and loving a newborn child. Something so poignant and precious to snuggling a helpless gift.

I felt so safe and loved as I listened to the sermon and watched that baby. There is nowhere I would rather be on a Sunday morning than in church with my family. I don't want to be at work, or the football field, or the store or even in bed, though I adore sleep above all else. It helps give me courage to face the world.

Naturally the sermon topic centers around Christmas for the month of December. I wondered just what it must have been like to rock the Savior to sleep. I saw the picture of love in front of me as a young mother bobbed back and forth. Mary must have been so overwhelmed as a first time mother. I know I was. But to be holding a wrinkly, very unplump, unsteady baby that just so happened to have formed the stars... I feel like her emotions got the better of her those first few moments. She surely must have felt the additional weight of responsibility. How does one actually mother, God? Talk about Mom guilt. Mary must have been able to cart hers around by camel, or ten. Equally, though, the joy must have been unrivaled as she snuggled him close day after day. As she watched the unrest around her. As she reread prophecy. As she began to understand just what a gift had been given.

I'm so glad Love stepped into our broken, broken world. I'm so glad that an unorthodox method was chosen.

Silent. Humble. Purposeful.

Love and redemption. A tale as old as time.

Tomorrow when once again I find myself overwhelmed. I will remember that little guy from today. His pure sweetness. I will remember another baby. With tiny fingers and toes. Who walked the road of humanity to know me in this weakness.

What kind of love is this?

The kind that demands my all.