Christmas

Who am I? The question was in every cry of the infant. I am Who am, he thought. The world is so big, as big as the Father's love, and I, I am so small in this shell of flesh. The bigness of the world recedes forever over the edge of the manger, in all directions, like a desert of sand, a tundra of howling snow, and the distance flees glimmering from me in all directions. Or in the next moment, the world is big, and the bigness grows tall and close, like walls coming together with a great weight and I am hugged and cuddled in my mother's arms, not crushed but loved.