A small hand waved in the cold Bethlehem night....

The infant had somehow escaped his swaddling...again. He seemed to be directing some unseen orchestra. Before she tucked him back into the warm strips of cloth, the young mother checked...again...to make sure he had ten toes. She smiled at his dimpled knees. And she wondered at such an aristocratic nose on such a tiny face. As his soft, tiny hand brushed her soft, nurturing hand, she checked there for fingers and thumb; and lingered to look at his palm. A scripture from Isaiah, one she’d heard her brother repeat, came to mind. “Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands...” (Isaiah 49:16a nasb). This was the first of countless times in the next thirty-three years that she would ponder deep, hidden treasures in her heart. That same heart would turn over with laughter at a toddler’s antics; and catch in her throat with unshed tears when the crowds jeered him; and break half in two when she witnessed his death. But that was for later. For tonight, there was the joy of motherhood. She caught his tiny hand, tucked him close and knew she held a most precious gift in her arms
...really.

Merry Christmas with love,
Terry &LaRue