And He Walked

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