A Second Spans Eternity

 A second spans eternity.

It began to form as I looked at a wreath this Christmas; jagged edges each twig digging deep within his brow. Sparsity of air, silence on his breath, we hung our wreath as a welcome on our front door, His eyes piercing our home.

Time lifted, as he was born, he lived, he died; as he had died he was alive – and everything between like a movie scene gifted me with eyes to see, and seeing, I see again.

I saw his face, and then hers – the one who entombed the word within. Too much unseen; galaxies being formed, hearts being changed, this heart full of shame, rearranging, rearranged.

Did tiny fingers draw streams for the dessert to sea into oceans to the skies as we were born and reborn in his reign? Tiny hands carving law into stone into nations into hearts bringing freedom, holding love, flesh as ransom for this heart of stone. Does his presence like a dove descend to tents in the desert, into cities into continents, and call one space his Holy home? This tent his Holy home?

Did she ponder in his birth, his last breath brought her back; final cries as He finished what he had said, in the arms of the Father turning, twisting and singing this place into bread, into life, the bread of life. In her arms, the arms of the Father.

Eternity spans a second.