| Sunny Side Up Dec. 24, 2003 �Kathleen Gibson There's something about a baby� A baby is a lovely being to have around at Christmas. There isn't one in our family, though the Preacher and I have placed our order for a grandchild. I'm told it's backordered. But God usually sends us one or two infants to hold at Christmas anyway. I held one a few weeks ago while his mother performed in a music concert. He hollered like a banshee, till his cheeks bloomed cherries and his hair stuck to his head. I walked, lulled, and sshh'ed until he finally settled. I'd forgotten the how a baby's cry obliterates all else. My shoulders ached after. And my teeth hurt. A few years ago, during a Christmas banquet, a toddler slipped off her mother's knee and sidled over to me. For a second I didn't know what to do. She did though. She clambered onto my lap as though she knew it well. For twenty minutes she stayed. Poured punch from one glass to another, and chattered in toddler-ish. Now and then she reached up to pat my cheek. It felt awfully like a benediction. Another year friends had a daughter at Christmas. We visited. Brought a gift; a blanket that has since become her favorite-pink, plush, and full of Winnie the Poohs. While her parents opened it, I walked over to Shelby's cradle. Her mother followed, scooped her up and laid her in my arms. The child slept. Not an eyelash fluttered over her apple smooth cheeks. My adult son leaned over to peek. "She's looks like a plastic baby," he said. I looked at him; this long young man who I'd given birth to over twenty years ago. And thought that if I'd known what parenting truly meant when he and his sister were tiny enough to fit between the crook of my elbow and my wrist, I'd have been paralyzed by fear. I'd do it all over again. But when I put out my Christmas cr�che I think about Mary, and Simeon's warning that a sword would pierce her heart because of the bundle in her arms. I'm not the only one who misses babies. My friend Carole, who's had four of them, called one Sunday from Nanaimo, her voice buoyant. "Guess what I did in church this morning. Just guess!" She couldn't wait. "I held a child," she blurted. "All through the service!" I understood her elation. We're kindred spirits, we two. Why do these thoughts come back at Christmas? Why especially at this time of year do childless arms long to wrap around someone small and trusting? An atheist friend would call it 'mushy Christian sentimentalism.' I think not. There are God-thoughts that can only be pondered when holding an infant. Wise men and shepherds understood that. Mary understood it. But God designed it. It's Christmas Eve. Find a baby to hold. Ponder the mystery and miracle of God's gift to you. A child. A Savior. Then read Luke 2. And have a blessed, holy Christmas day. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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