What has captured my thoughts is the line, "And when you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God."
What could that have felt like? To kiss the actual, physical face of God? And to have it disguised as a child?
Did she know?
Could she comprehend? If not, when did the pieces fall into place? At that first miracle at the wedding in Cana? At what point did she really know what ... or whom ... she was dealing with?*
But what occurred to me the other day is that I kiss the face of God every day. Every time I kiss my children ... every time I kiss my husband ... every time I kiss the top of one of my children's friends heads ... I am also kissing God.
We are God's sons and daughters. Adopted, yes, but no less family. No less kin. No less image-bearers.
I wish I remembered that more when my kids are fighting. Or disobeying. Or procrastinating. Or pouting. Maybe that's my Christmas wish for myself this year. Don't see them as little bickering gremlins with a crappy attitude.
Look into their eyes, smile, and kiss the face of God.
[*Note: Bad grammar. I know. Get over it.]
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