Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Asleep on the hay

Precious Baby Maya and Gio 
Away in a manger, no crib for His bed
The little Lord Jesus lay down His sweet head
The stars in the sky look down where He lay
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay

You left Glory to be lain in a pile of hay. You trusted a poor teenage girl and a young man to carry You, feed You, bathe You, care for You in every way.

You could have came to us in any way You wanted but Your choice was to become a poor helpless baby born before indoor plumbing, air conditioning, and cell phones.

You were God. More powerful than a hurricane. Wiser than anyone who ever lived. Holy and perfect in every way. Yet You laid it all down, left it behind and trusted Mary and Joseph, knowing they were frail and flawed.

You are more precious than the thousands of dollars I carried clutching in my pocketbook last week to pay cash for the car repair. More precious than the big party I fretted over as the last guests called requiring the altering of my carefully crafted seating plan. More precious than the millionaire houses that burnt in the recent raging fires. More precious even than the sweet sick friends I am praying for, although they are so very precious to me.

So precious, Holy God, Savior of the whole world and yet You trusted Your very life to them. You entrust Your gospel to us.

Why can’t we trust You then, dear Beloved? You showed us how to trust. Let me remember You did it first, You did it for us. You trusted us when You knew we could not be trusted.

Let me trust You because we know we can.

And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. (Luke 2:7)

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