THE   VISITOR  

 


Resting sweetly with eyes that won’t stay open, his head gently lay upon the mat.  The fingers of this precious one curl into his palm, closing his hand, then stretching again as if touching the air like a soft fur on a kitten’s neck.  His lips part slightly as if to speak, then from between those delicate layers his tongue seeks his mother’s breast, and his ear lightly exposed when, leaning across the little mat, his cheek is lovingly kissed by the visitor who had so cautiously moved the wrap to expose this beautiful face.

 

Anxiously anticipating this instant for so many months, caused a tear to form, linger, and then drop near the little, perfectly shaped nose of this sleepy infant.  No one could know what pain was suffered, or the sacrifice laid to arrive at this moment, feeling the soft, tender skin against the rugged and wind-hardened lips of a scarred and life-toughened, well journeyed man.  His beard cleaned and brushed for this occasion rested upon the folds of the cloth to which the baby was covered.  His black hair fell off his neck and laid adjacent to a crease of the dainty material.  He held his position, not wanting to startle, but unyielding, wanting someone to know his heart, to feel his pent-up words of jubilee and shouts of celebration.  He had come so far.  He had given so much.  He desired this time.  His dreams were full of being here, and they had carried him during the trying days and sleepless nights.  Dreams and thoughts that now were fulfilled before him, shapes of imagination now alive and on his touch.  This was now a happening.  Knowing his lips were now reverently, lovingly, kissing, worshipping and praising this little one is what brought him here, is what got him here, is what caused him to continue, to persevere, to endure to the end of his task, his calling, his responsibility, his life.  This was what it was about.  This is why he was created.  No other purpose, no other meaning, but to be here, right now, touching this cheek.

 

As another tear dropped, he knew he had found what he had been searching for, the life-long question of what he was looking for, the completeness of his spirit, the fulfillment of his heart, the eternal spring from which his soul could drink and never wander or thirst again.  But no one else knows what this child means to him.  “Doesn’t anybody realize who this is?  Am I alone in my understanding?”  But he doesn’t struggle, his wrestling is quickly spent, exchanged for the feel of this tiny and tender presence which his lips caress.  He has longed to say the words he shouted to shifting sands moved by passing winds along his way.  To the living thing he had rehearsed, to the drifting cloud he had sang, and to every star at night he had spoken the words that fill his heart.  But no words could he speak, no utterance could he give.  Even a whisper into an ear so close, could not be given.  He wanted, desired so much for this child to know how he loved him.  How his love for him saved him and carried him through to this day.  Oh, if only the words were there.  But they are deep in his heart, surrounded by feelings, captured by emotions, and held tight by unexplainable passions.

 

“Feel my heart young baby.  Know that I worship you.  Know that I believe, You are the Christ, the Son of God, come to save me.  I love you.  I will always love you.”

 

And as the visitor leaned down and kissed the newly born cheek, his mother noticed his little infant hands reach up and his tiny fingers grasp the beard of this man.  She saw the wetness near his face from the tears of this one, and saw, as this man’s beard caught yet one more tear cascading down, her baby held on like he was acknowledging a kinship between life-long friends, parting, but knowing that they would meet again, arm in arm, hugging and kissing once more, never again to part.

 

Then the visitor quietly slipped away, and as galloping hooves were heard, a distant cry, “I love you, Jesus, I love you, Jesus”, repeatedly echoed into the night.

                                                                                                                                                    Selah  

 The Visitor by Ronhales                                                                                                                                                                                                                    1 John 3:18-20

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