Young Jesus . . .

 

 

When you were little and wandered through the hills near Nazareth the earth welcomed your small footsteps. Rocks you climbed upon silently cried out that their Creator had come. With each breeze the skies whispered still and small of your being the Redeemer of all. Little boy did you hear your Father calling you back home when your walk in that wilderness was near?

 

 

Did your tender heart wonder of the reason for being here? Mary and Joseph asleep nearby, you turned to the window and watched the clear evening sky. So far, and so beautiful, the stars twinkled.

 

 

You looked at your hands calloused from working in your father's shop. You saw the galaxies above there spinning from old in your palms. A vision, a dream, you remembered long ago another Father's shop and gradually dawned the light of greater and deeper task. A greater love filled your soul and you gave yourself for your people, your friends.

 

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