As Christmas rolls around once again, two things hold me in wide-eyed marvel at the incarnation.
First, these words:
Man’s maker was made man,
that He, Ruler of the stars, might nurse at His mother’s breast;
that the Bread might hunger,
the Fountain thirst,
the Light sleep,
the Way be tired on its journey;
that the Truth might be accused of false witness,
the Teacher be beaten with whips,
the Foundation be suspended on wood;
that Strength might grow weak;
that the Healer might be wounded;
that Life might die.
– St. Augustine
Second, being around baby. The other day, I propped Cora up on a pillow to sit and then wandered off to give Grace a snack. A couple of minutes later, I heard a little cry and realized that Cora had toppled sideways, had ended up face down on the carpet, and was getting tired of holding her head up. All she could do was let out a cry in hopes that I would come to her rescue.
God once made himself that needy.
