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
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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
The Visitor by Ronhales 1 John 3:18-20