How must it have felt for God
plummeting through the fathomless universe
created by Himself as the
Morning Stars had sung for joy . . .
to seed quietly into the womb
of a humble human with sandalled feet
and fingers coarse with dropping water-buckets
into Nazareth well?
It was such a small space.
He, Who had been used to limitless galaxies
by Nature outside of, and unruled by, time
Now bound by the span of nine months;
watching His little fingernails grow
the miracles of His tiny eyelids form
and the buds of His limbs blossom into hands and feet
destined to walk the roads, and heal the blind
and call on the winds Redemption from the
four corners of the earth.
His form took that of an infant man.
How must it have felt for the Creator
now joined with created,
pushing headfirst into a stable world?
The first cries He heard outside the womb
were His: His Eyes
bright as stars, discovered the miracle
of human love; as He looked into the
eyes of His mother and stepfather.
How must it have been for God ...
Catherine Nicolette Whittle
