It's been a month of consistently walking with them, sharing their
smiles, singing songs, and meeting together. For four years I have known faces.
For a few, I have known names. Now, I am learning their stories.
There is my best friend, the little one who has been close
to me for about a year. We share hugs and smiles, a few phrases in Tagalog, and
then we squeeze hands and stay close.
There is the sibling group with the sweetest smiles. They
keep adding siblings to the mix, and I wonder how many there really are. Even
as they stood in the hot sun, they still wore their smiles.
And this little one… the three year old with the small face
and dark eyes. She came one day to our little group crying, so I picked her up
and held her close. And she melted. She continues to snuggle close each time I
hold her. If I could, I would take she and her brother in a heartbeat. I wonder
how often she is snuggled.
I look at the mothers, lining up with the little ones to
grab extra food and presents. While the little ones look with fresh faces and
bright eyes, I see the tiredness and years of wear on the faces of their
mothers.
I have learned in my time here not to judge… when the mom
gets angry and snatches the child too hard, for the little one who needs to be
held, for the crying that won’t be soothed.
The reality is that life is hard. Life has been hard. And
when you live in a slum with few options for how to earn the next meal and
safety is a luxury, it tends to stress.
I look around at the dirty feet and faces smudged in
charcoal, the sores and runny noses that indicate deeper problems.
And I can’t help but remember… the Word that became Flesh,
and lived among us.
The God who bent low… the God who wrapped himself in skin…
our skin… this skin so prone to scratches, sores and bruising, this tired flesh
that bears the weight of years and hardships.
The very Word himself decided to take our flesh and make it
his own.
And he was humbled.
He humbled and bent low. And I can’t help but imagine that
if I could have seen his flesh in this slum, then I would have seen him bending
even lower.
Never mind, I am sure I saw his flesh. I saw reflections of
him in their eyes.
And as the Word became flesh, he lived, breathed, walked
among us.
And the company he kept? The little ones like my sweet
friends, covered in garbage, they would have been his treasures. He would have
stooped low to scoop into his arms and hold them tightly. He would have sat
amongst their circles, laughing and sharing stories.
The tired mothers? His devoted ones who wrapped his body and
welcomed his re-entry.
The fathers in the corner observing at a safe distance? His
best friends.
He chose to walk among us, to experience the aches and the
pains of this life so we could draw closer.
Maybe that’s what I needed this Christmas… to be reminded
that real love became flesh and took on my skin. To be shown that ultimate
sacrifice and perfect peace comes from the body of a newborn who would grow
into a man, stretching his arms to welcome my sin.
Stretching his arms to welcome me.
Not only did he walk among us, but he considered the joy before
him and endured the cross. The story never ends with a baby in a stable, but
with a God who conquers death.
And I look at the little faces of the ones I have come to
love so much, and I can’t help but be in awe of a God who made himself like us
so we could be close to him.
Who else is there like him? What other deity would stoop so
low to welcome the lowly?
My precious Jesus.
The one who leads the celebration in heaven when his little
ones say yes to him. The arms once made small and weak, then broken, now
stretched to welcome all who say yes.
And the Word became
flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the as of the only begotten
of the Father, full of grace and truth.
John
1:14
