Jesus, I love you. It’s hard to fathom the infinite you left to become finite like us, to understand our sufferings, to live as we live, to feel as we feel, to experience life in an infested corrupt world where we’re bound by time and gravity and our own fears and selfishness. And to think you wanted to do this . . . so I, we, could be reunited with you.

What was it like – to be eternal and all powerful trapped in a little baby’s body? What did you feel as a sinless three year old and the other kids wouldn’t share their toys with you? Were you ridiculed as a “momma’s boy” because you were obedient and did as you were told? Did you ever have to watch your younger brothers and sisters and did it break your heart to see them misbehave? Were you close to Joseph?

I must confess I can’t wrap my mind around your infinity – all powerful, all knowing . . . all those omni’s used to describe a fraction of you. But I do know this, that for you to become like one of us, mortal and finite, just so you could die to get us back – its beyond extraordinary. But it’s Who you are.

And I love you for Who you are. I can’t give you gold, frankincense or myrrh like the wise men did when you were flesh. But I offer you my heart anew and ask that you help me live with eternity in view.

It’s not that far away.