While Jesus was Lying in a Manger

I held her baby tight. 

At ten days old, his tiny body felt barely there. I was afraid I’d forget. I was afraid I’d look down and discover I’d hurt him somehow.

He laid there so trusting, so helpless. So dependent on someone else to protect him, to feed him, to keep him warm. Eyes closed in sleep. Eyes closed to a world he knows nothing about yet.

Lying so still, yet breathing strong.

I held my breath.

A newborn is a breathtaking miracle.

He has so much to learn, to experience, to hope in, to succeed in; to leave behind when his days are done.

But for now, he knows nothing but to trust.

It’s newborn instinct to trust.

Josiah Lang. Used by permission. (Thanks, Bec.)

The Image of the invisible God in whom we trust was a newborn.

A miracle, he laid still as newborns do—trusting in the arms of His mother and in a manger built for a different purpose.

His mother laid Him . . . in a manger.

But while He lay there trusting, something else was happening.

Shepherds were watching defenseless sheep through the night.

Angels appeared. They sang, “Glory to God in the highest.”

A Savior was born. A newborn.

They would find Him . . . lying (trusting) in a manger.

The shepherds ran to see the Savior.

They found Him just as the angel had said . . . lying in a manger.

They went away wondering at all they had seen and heard.

A newborn miracle. A miracle announced by angels.

The Glory of God in the highest . . . lying in a manger.

He trusted, as newborns do. He lay still in a manger. 

Trusting.

While Jesus was lying in a manger, He taught us to trust.

To be still.

And know that He is God.