I wait for you each day, my Jesus. Yet this is no passive biding of time. In these precious days I labor to build a place ready for you. It is no more glorified than the humble stable that welcomed you some 2,000 years ago in the presence of a few barn animals, your Mother, and blessed St. Joseph. The place, which I prepare, is none other than my feeble heart, fickle with the times and insecurities of life. But it is all yours, O my King, who come in the form of a mere babe. Often do I ponder and twist my mind into the maddest of knots, trying to fathom why ever you would deign to be born into our brokenness. When you came forth gloriously from the mouth of the Father, you showed us what true glory is: a Mother groaning with the immense struggle of childbirth, a patient and faithful husband, whose great suspicions were met by a greater trust and hope, and the boy, crying, covered in his Mother's placenta, longing for her sustaining milk. And in that moment you knew, whether consciously or not, you felt what it was to be human, and I can never understand why. But that is not the question you ask me. No, you don't even have a question. You have only a look in your eyes that tells me all I could ever long to hear, more than all time could yield, something so purely infinite and so wholly other, but so radically here. And what your heavenly gaze, captured in the face and heart of a newborn, proclaims is this: I came because I love you, and I will remain with you forever.
Be it done to me according to your Word.
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