There is something so wonderful about the birth of a baby.  That tiny little bundle has the power to make women fall apart, to start speaking in a language that -let's face it- sounds downright foolish, and yet no one objects.  Baby-talk seems perfectly normal. Happy tears flow freely, smiles light up otherwise stern, sober faces.  Complete strangers lean in to get a look at the adorable infant.  Big strong men get watery- eyed, and start wearing a silly smile.  They seem compelled to extend one finger for a tiny fist to close upon.  How can one little baby have such power and just lie there oblivious to it all?  For two thousand years the world has celebrated the birth of a Baby Boy, born of a virgin, born in a lowly manger in Bethlehem.  Things have never been the same since that Silent Night long ago when a Star hung shining brightly to mark His birthplace, when angel hosts proclaimed His birth to a group of humble shepherds, when wisemen came with treasures to worship Him as King.  No other Babe has the distinction of being born the Son of God, wrapped in fragile baby flesh, born in a unique manner for only one reason.  He was born to die for the sins of the world into which He came, though He Himself was the sinless, spotless Lamb of God.  No wonder there is a different atmosphere about Christmas...we pause to bow before His cradle to worship this One Who came to show us what Love looks like.  Love is a Baby Who grew to magnificent manhood to die a cruel death and offer the Gift of Eternal Life to all who believe.  Love is a Risen Savior Who will return one day to reign forevermore as King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Romans 8:28   



                                                             The Cradle and the Cross  
                                                                                   

The greatest gain the world has known
Was Heaven's greatest loss;
Her King was gone! His mission was
To die upon a cross.

To Earth He came, a Babe to be.
No pillow knew His head;
No royal cradle did He choose-
A manger was His bed.

No royal court to welcome Him,
Just Mary's lullaby,
And humble shepherds from the hills-
(But angels sang on high!)

The heart of Mary pondered o'er
The measure of the cost,
As o'er the sleeping Infant fell
The shadow of a cross.

He'd be a man 'fore she'd recall
The aged prophet's word,
But when He hung on Calvary
Her heart would feel the sword.

She could not know that holy night
When star-fire lit the sky,
Her tiny Babe-the Son of God-
Was only born to die.