190. Helping Jesus
Sixteen years ago my granddaughter Lissa was two. She knew well the Christmas story. I was babysitting with her and her five-year-old brother Daniel. Daniel was playing in his room.
I was reading a book. Lissa was lying on the little sofa and out of the corner of my eye I saw her intentionally fall to the floor. She cried out, “Oh—I am Jesus and I fell out of the manger.”
I continued reading my book and then, I was aware that not two feet from me sat a child on her knees, legs tucked under her, whimpering softly. And I suddenly knew that Jesus was crying. I got up and said, “I’m sorry—can I help you get back in the manger?” I helped her up on the couch and I covered her with the small blankets she had had before—first one, then a second, then a third blanket. She smiled, a beautiful smile, and said, “Thank you, Mary.”
I sat back down but I didn’t go back to my book because there for a few minutes, I was Mary. It was a moment and for that moment God was mysteriously present.
