“Where were you, momma?” Tiny hands grab either side of my face as I bend down to pick up a few toys. She demands my attention, and I give it to her freely.
“Momma and daddy went on a quick trip. Remember? We just had to pick up a few more presents in New York before Christmas!”
She knew where we had been, but she needed a reminder that the trip was unique. It was something that would not happen again soon. She needed affirmation that momma wasn’t going anywhere.
“I missedchew, momma. I just wuv you.”
She squeezes my neck pressing her sweet still baby soft cheeks against my own.
I knew she would be clingy when we returned from our 4 day vacation. However, I did not anticipate her need to be in constant physical contact with me. For the next week as I prepared for Christmas, her tiny frame was wrapped around my legs, her arms around my neck, her heart needing to beat near my own.
As I tried to wrap presents for the grandparents, as I cooked, as I cleaned the house and made last minute trips to the store, she came with me. I did not fault her for it, but everything slowed down with 28 lbs of love draped around my neck.
We shared some precious moments over the last week. Little eyes soaked up my every action. Little ears listened to my every word. Little hands would reach out just to make sure I was still real.
She kept a close eye on me, never letting me get a few feet from her and rarely out of view. But today, as I went to clean our house that was still littered with Christmas fun, she stayed in the living room.
Her continual shadow had become quite familiar, and I realized quickly that she wasn’t with me. But as I peeked back and spied on her playing with her dolls, I saw something for the first time in over a week.
Peace.
Her little heart was at last sure that I wasn’t going to leave. She was finally confident of my presence.
And there it was.
On a day after Christmas, when everything already seems to have lost its wonder, I received the purest gift of all.
In my daughter, I saw the peace that I should cling to myself as I find rest in the presence of my Heavenly Father.
It is the gift of Emmanuel, God with us.
It cannot be outgrown. It cannot be replaced by something better next year. It cannot get old and be put away. It cannot lose its shine. It cannot be outdone.
The King came to the dust below. And just as He breathed life into Adam in the Garden, God breathed life and hope into this weary world again.
And with it, He made and fulfilled a promise. He BECAME the Promise in flesh. He would not leave us. He wouldn’t abandon us in our sin. He would not distance himself.
He would come to die. To BE the Way so that we could never be without Him. So that we could always throw our arms around the King. So that we could squeeze His face and stare into His love and be sure that He isn’t going anywhere ever again. He is reachable. He is touchable. He is with us.
This morning, I choose to take the gift of His birth into the rest of the year and next. I choose to recognize that He expects us to spend time with Him. He expects us to soak up His words. To watch His every action. For our hearts beat near His.
Just like my daughter, today, I remind myself to reach out and touch the King. To be sure of His company. Because His presence isn’t just a gift we should remember on a Christmas morning. It is the Promise of eternity in His arms.
