All I know is that I can hardly breathe, and right next to me God offers His lungs in the primal wails of a newborn boy. I am barely standing, and here within reach God will learn to crawl and walk along with me in the clumsy, fumbling stride of a toddler. I wonder how I will survive the day –to- day business of life with the constant stabbing of grief. And here in the flesh God, too, is learning to survive, only to bear the painful piercing of the ultimate grief.

So with my hands on the manger and my knees on the ground, I kneel. I kneel not because I am reverent or because I am righteous, but simply because I can no longer stand. My open wound and staggering loss are all I have to bring to this infant King.