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Born in a manger?

This is my sweet baby, Garrett:

I spent weeks getting ready for his arrival. By the time he finally came, two days late, the pack & play was set up, and adorned with a clean fitted sheet. I had a package of newborn diapers unwrapped and waiting and stacks of tiny onesies washed, folded and ready to wear.

I wanted everything to be perfect.

This is my lovable dog, Lenny:

He lives in our backyard. He watches over our house and keeps us company.

This is his food dish:

It’s a little gross, but it does the trick for an outside dog.

Lenny’s a big boy (over 100 pounds) and his dog food bowl is also, appropriately, large. Garrett, I’m sure, would fit inside it.

But you’re crazy if you think anything in the world could make me put my sweet infant in that filthy, drooly, germ-ridden bowl.

That why what Jesus did is so amazing to me.

He was God. King of the universe. Worthy to sit on the throne of heaven and demand our worship. But instead, he came as a baby. And not just any baby, but a poor baby. A baby whose parents had nowhere better to put him than a stinky trough animals ate out of.

It’s so humble.

How can it be that Jesus would stoop that low to reconcile our fallen souls to God?

But it’s what the Bible says he did.

“When the time came, [Jesus] set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human!” (Philippians 2:6-7, the Message)

“She wrapped him in clothes and put him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.” (Luke 2:7, NIV)

So this Christmas, as I stare into the face of the baby that I love, I can’t help but think about Jesus, and how much better he deserved. Born in a manger? I wouldn’t want that for my child. But Jesus chose it for himself. For me.


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