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

To one woman, You were a firstborn son.

To us, You were King, laid low, but to her — then — You were her first born. First cry, first suckle, first swaddling of one that was her very own flesh.

She was still mother, even though You were Savior.

You made Yourself flesh, even to she who was invited in to the holy huddle that night. You didn’t compromise Yourself and You didn’t compromise flesh. You were of her flesh and blood.

I adore You, God who wrapped Yourself in the vulnerability of infancy, all so that my vulnerable flesh might taste Your glory. You didn’t just visit flesh, You embodied it. All so that we might know the smell of Your skin.

You put definition to Your Father’s nearness. It wasn’t simply so that we would acknowledge how much our lives have been understood by our maker. You came near so that God would have a face, to us.

You gave me a grid for looking into Your eyes and receiving Your look into mine.

For witnessing Your tears.

For putting an expression to joy and delight and for putting words to love.

For seeing how holiness responds when flesh is stretched. God, You reached out and you touched so that I might know this very thing.

You touch. You hold, You cup, You cradle. You did, then, as a visible expression of what You had always done. You put on love so that my weak flesh might see it.

I adore You, God nearer than I know.

Your love breathes and sighs. It sings and it laughs. It weeps. And, yes, it feels.You don’t shout commands from on-high, You are teeming with nearness.

Your love is active.

And she held it. That love was her firstborn son.

The wiseman brought gifts with their worship and the shepherds stood in awe, still glowing from heaven’s shine on their face, but that wee thing whose body had just broken open to give way to You, she worshipped you with a kiss.

You made Yourself a babe. And a son.

I adore You, holiness wrapped in flesh that demonstrated that the two might find home in the other.

Your wonder, in that night, has a forever-wonder to work in me. Father, You have only just begun in me …

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This post is an adoration meditation. If you are compelled, I invite you to participate. Set up a space and time in your own life to begin adoring Him. Over laundry or dinner dishes, on your commute to work, or in the wee morning hours — five or ten minutes is a great start. You can use the verse I list here every day and join the crew of us who are looking up at Him.

[ Why I Adore, Showing Up, and Morning Chai, Explained will give you a context for this little space on my blog. ]

Photos compliments of Mandie Joy.