Sometimes, I feel so small.
This planet is far too large for me to understand, with way too many people for my mind to comprehend. What does 7 billion mean? And here I am, just one. Just one blade of grass in a continent wide savanna, one tiny drop of water in an ocean of earth-time.
And yet, within these little bones of mine, beneath this fragile skin, I feel gnawing, aching, heartbreaking sorrows, quaking everything within me more violently than tectonic plates and magma flow. This quivering verge of cataclysm is somehow hidden, unseen by other eyes, the tremors undetected. And this is true for every one. A human life can slip so easily through a fissure of space where no hands can grab it back – and the earth doesn’t even know that it is gone.
Why would God want to feel like this?
Why would God take on human flesh and limitations, a tender heart susceptible to storms and pain?… To become a small blossom of humanity easily decimated by the winds of war, sickness and age, forgotten, neglected, rejected, ignored, unseen…?
God must know something that I don’t.
In preparing to commemorate the birth of God Incarnate into the world, filled with awe, I wonder… and I wonder… and I am stilled with wonder
– that the All-Powerful Creator and Master of the Universe Entire should become so small.
© 2017 Christina Chase
Although crippled by disease, I'm fully alive in love. I write about the terrible beauty and sacred wonder of life, while living with physical disability and severe dependency. A revert to the Catholic faith through atheism, I'm not afraid to ask life's big questions. I explore what it means to be fully human through my weekly blog and have written a book: It's Good to Be Here, published by Sophia Institute Press.