He is here.
O mystery beyond all words.
The Word, the eternal Word, is here.
I have carried him in secret places, felt him turn in hidden darkness.
I have stretched and broken and waited in silence.
And now – he lies on my breast, warm with breath, tiny fingers curling round mine.
Flesh of my flesh… yet more than I can ever comprehend.
I have known him in the temple of my womb,
woven by the Spirit in the quiet hours of surrender.
I whispered my yes to the Unseen One
and my body made room for what the world cannot contain.
I carried him when no one else could see,
when heaven held its breath and earth went on unknowing.
I felt the weight of glory growing small beneath my ribs.
I bore the hidden God.
And now… he cries.
He who spoke the stars into being now takes his first breath of earth’s cold air.
He who fills all things now fits into my arms.
He who thunders on Sinai now presses his face to my skin, seeking milk.
He comes not robed in majesty,
but wrapped in my blood, in my weakness,
born in a borrowed place, laid in a feeding trough.
I have heard the angel’s song.
I have seen the shepherds’ wonder.
But I am silent now…
for he has come through me,
and I, who once made space within,
now make space without –
to hold him, to behold him, to wonder at him.
He is Light from Light,
and here in my arms, he is fragile, small, dependent.
The ungraspable God has made himself graspable.
I remember the words the angel spoke:
“He will be great… the Son of the Most High.”
And yet he sleeps, his breath rising and falling on my skin.
O my child… my Lord… my Son…
The Word has become flesh,
and I… I have become the dwelling place of God.
I will ponder these things all my life.
