Longing

Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like to hold Baby Jesus.

I imagine His warm little body snuggling close to mine
and His little finger finding my mouth.

I kiss His sweet baby smile
and caress His rosy cheeks
while He coos like a dove.

I love His knowing eyes and the way He trusts me.
I smell the earthy fragrance of His soft curly head.
I absorb His purity and give Him my all.

I told Him this.
I told Him how much I wish I could have held Him as a baby.

And I think I heard Him say,
"Every baby you hold is as precious as I was as a baby.

Whatever you do to the least of these,
that you do to me.

If you want to know what it was like to hold Me,
hold the baby next to you.
Touch the child who comes your way.
Love every person who breathes your air,
And you will know what it means to hold me."

I open my eyes
and every where I look,
I see bouncing baby Jesus'
and teething toddler Jesus'
and thirsty third grade Jesus'
and troubled teenage Jesus'
 and questioning college-age Jesus'
and maxed-out middle age Jesus'
and over the last hill Jesus'.

I see nice Jesus' and obnoxious Jesus'
and bitter Jesus' and lonely Jesus' and sweet Jesus' too.

Everywhere I look,
I see Him,
and I do so want to love Him
 and touch Him and bless Him
in whatever way seems best
at the time.

Thank you, dear Jesus,
for letting me hold you
as a baby
every day of my life.

Thank you for being in everyone I see.
Help me love You more.