“Kissing the Face of God” Original Oil Painting by Morgan Weistling
With eyes sparkling in delight, Jeanette exuberantly wished me MERRY CHRISTMAS and pressed a candy cane, along with a folded paper, into my hand. Upon my return home from Church, I smoothed out the paper to read the neatly printed words, marching up and down, over the hills and valleys of the deep creases. The message touched my soul. Instantly I knew I wanted to share it as my Christmas letter to you:
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WHERE TO START?
There is so much to tell. It was so very long ago that the angel came and all I had to do, at least at first, was to be willing, and to wait and wait and wait. Of all the things that faced me in that moment, “Willing to Wait” proved to be the hardest. “Willing to Wait” on the Lord. “Willing to Wait” for the Lord, to see how the Lord God would do all that would be done. SO HARD!
Willing, I turned to waiting those nine months, waiting for my son. My son, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. His flesh and bone and blood, born of my blood. His flesh was mine, but His spirit was not. From the beginning when the angel Gabriel said, “The child to be born will be called Holy, the Son of God”, I knew He would be more His Father’s than His mother’s.
His birth was wonderful and beautiful. Joseph and I were so happy, so amazed, so filled with joy. But there was something else, too. For the first time since the angel Gabriel said not to be afraid, I was. Of what, I didn’t know.
I watched my son as He slept. I did that a lot, you know. I’d creep close to Him, watching and listening. His little hands would flex, his lips would mumble the language babies mumble. I’m sure God understands their garbled sounds. Anyhow, I loved watching Him. One night He rolled on to His back and stretched out his arms. Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t stop crying. He was so innocent and I loved Him so much. Many times I saw Him like that as a child.
Later, I saw Him like that as a man. I was crying then too. For those very same reasons: He was so innocent, I loved Him so much and I was so afraid. He wasn’t sleeping then, but His hands would flex. Not in thin air but around the nails holding Him to the cross. He was mumbling too, and though I was close enough to catch His life as it dripped onto the ground, I could not hear Him clearly or understand. But I’m sure God heard and understood, for God was closer to Him still. God had always been closer to Him than I, except perhaps for that first night when my tears were for joy and life as I held Him in my arms.
He was my son; my firstborn and I did call His name JESUS. I didn’t know that night when I delivered my son that one day, He would deliver me. He was my son. He was my Savior. He was born that night to die so that we could be born again and live. He is my Savior. He is God. My baby, JESUS!
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I thank Jeanette for sharing this beautiful message with me. I wish all of you a MERRY CHRISTMAS! May your hearts be filled with Praise and Thanksgiving that we have the Joy of knowing JESUS was born to Deliver Us.
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Mikki Senkarik 