When God walked among us, Jesus loved children.
He was always patient, always kind. They often interrupted and asked a lot of questions and talked too much (especially the four-year-olds, I am sure). They were loud; they were children. But he was not annoyed or irritated. He was never too busy. They were never too little.
He told them stories. They surrounded him. They believed him. They knew he came from God, because he said so. They took front row seats at the miracles. They gasped when the blind beggar
opened his eyes. They cheered when the lame man took his first step. They were not afraid to sing his praises: "Hosanna to
the Son of David! Hosanna in the highest!" while the adults grumbled and
plotted the savior's death.
He knew them by name. Sometimes, he would say, "Come!" Most of the time, he did not need to; they flew into his open arms. He held the babies, laid his hand on the bigger ones. And he would pray, and pray, and pray for them. He would tell his disciples: "Turn, and be like children."
He was kind to fathers, and especially to mothers. He remembered pregnant women, mothers of young children, and single moms, the widows. When their children were hungry, he fed them. When their children were sick, he healed them. And when all hope was gone, he raised their little ones from the dead.
Jesus loved children.
When God lived among us, he covered his glory with the face of a fetus, wrapped in a virgin's womb. A small, narrow place for the Maker of stars. He was a baby. He was fed, held, swaddled.
Little was never so big;
big was never so little.
Matthew 9:24-25; 11:2;14:21; 15:38; 17:18; 18:2-5; 19:13-14; 21:15-16; 24:19.