I have been blessed to hold many newborn babies in my arms. My own, of course, my grandchildren, three of whom I held within moments of their births, and the babies of friends, co-workers and extended family. (Rumor has it that at inner-city hospitals, they need baby-cuddlers for abandoned babies or those born with their mother's addiction. They need people who can rock and soothe even the fussiest of babies. I've often thought, "I could do that!" I could sit for hours on end with a baby in my arms, my arms having known much pleasure but certainly no greater pleasure. It would probably mean moving back to the city, however, as there is no shortage of willing arms in our community.)

What is it about babies? Each one elicits the same response of awe and wonder, whether of blood relation or no relation. They are so helpless, so small, blank pages waiting to be filled. Their story yet to be told, they are, at the same time, the fullness of all things hoped for, our own innocence so quickly lost, momentarily reclaimed in their unfocused gaze.

Their trust is astounding. They have yet to learn fear or want, and their hunger pangs are quickly and easily satisfied. Their needs are small, but of paramount importance to their survival. And they trust us to meet those needs.

Experience has taught us how quickly all that changes. A baby's first year of life is extraordinary in how rapidly things change. Newborn, they cannot even support their own heads. Arms and legs wave about without purpose, and their first cry undoubtedly startles them even as it assures the new parents that all is well. Their eyes are unfocused, their world completely different from the warm, wet womb, and yet they submit themselves to whatever indignity comes their way, whether its a diaper change, a bath, or a burping, with utter trust.

Within a few weeks, eyes begin to focus on faces, learning to recognize emotions and learning to respond to those emotions. The neck strengthens and arms and legs come under more and more control. The ears grow used to the assault of un-muted sound and quickly come to recognize certain voices and by the end of the first year, oft-repeated words. In less time than it took the baby to mature to birth, he is sitting up and reaching for the spoon. The blank pages are already starting to fill.

And still, they trust us. Unquestioning, they allow us to pick them, bundle them up and buckle them in, only to deposit them in a room full of new faces, to be passed from one set of arms to another, the hum of, "Oh, what a sweet little face, what tiny little fingers" the song that lulls them through another day.

By two years of age, they are mobile and curious about everything. Fear is still unknown to them -- except the ones we've passed on with our uncensored and all too frequent cries of "Look out!"

And then the hectic years of childhood are upon them and us. And it seems life is lived at breakneck speed as they progress through the short years of childhood, struggle through the angst-ridden days of adolescence and stumble through their own early years as an adult, until one day, they too, begin to understand the awesome and frightening status of parent.

If ever there were a theology lesson written for the heart of men, it is the one written for everyone who has ever held a newborn baby in their arms. Total trust. Total confidence. A life that knows no fear, no want, no hunger or thirst that cannot or will not be satisfied. And you, for the moments that the babe rests there in your arms, you are the one they trust. Astonishing. Humbling.

And made all the more so by the truth that takes center stage this time of year. God became one of us. A baby. Utterly helpless, utterly fearless, utterly trusting the arms that held him until he could stand on his own. Blank pages, waiting to be filled. And oh, what a story is told therein. It is the story of a father, told by his Son, the story of the Father we have all longed for, the one worthy of our trust. In him, we find no fear, no hunger, no thirst, that cannot or will not be satisfied.

I have been blessed to hold many a baby in my day. And just for a moment, as I gaze into their newborn eyes, seeing them though they cannot see me, I see him, again, a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. King of heaven. Lord of all creation. Emmanuel. God with us.

"Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: 'Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.'" Luke 2:28-30 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven: Empty arms