It's still a mystery to me
That the hands of God could be so small,
How tiny fingers reaching in the night
Were the very hands that measured the sky
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Heaven's love reaching down to save the world
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Son of God, Servant King
Here with us
You're here with us
It's still a mystery to me
How His infant eyes have seen the dawn of time
How His ears have heard an angel's symphony
But still Mary had to rock her Savior to sleep
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Heaven's love reaching down to save the world
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Son of God, Servant King
Here with us
You're here with us
--Here With Us, Joy Williams
I love the verses to this song... Every time I hear it, I get shivers. Sometimes it's easy to picture God as the Creator of the universe, so big and powerful with the angels praising Him up in heaven. And then this time of year it can be easy to picture Jesus as a baby -- we see pictures and nativity scenes all the time, and think aww He's so cute. But how often do we put the two together? This is God -- the One who made us, who makes everything in the world happen so perfectly, who formed the stars and oceans and ladybugs -- as a baby. Like us.
Seeing so many of my friends and relatives with new babies this past year, I look at their pictures and try to imagine God looking like that. And then I think about the little one growing inside of me, and realize God went through that part too...
The last part of the second verse really gets to me, even brings me to tears sometimes: "How His ears have heard an angel's symphony -- But still Mary had to rock her Savior to sleep..." Wow. I picture Mary cradling Him close, looking into His eyes, singing to Him as His eyes drift closed in peaceful sleep... Did she sing Psalms to Him? Did she realize she was actually holding and singing to the One those Psalms were written about and for? Was she a good singer? I'm sure it was nothing compared to the angelic choir He had just left... Yet there is nothing quite like the voice of a mother.
It's still a mystery to me...
mys*ter*y [mis-tuh-ree, -tree] -- noun
1. anything that is kept secret or remains unexplained or unknown
2. any affair, thing, or person that presents features or qualities so obscure as to arouse curiosity or speculation
-dictionary.com
That the hands of God could be so small,
How tiny fingers reaching in the night
Were the very hands that measured the sky
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Heaven's love reaching down to save the world
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Son of God, Servant King
Here with us
You're here with us
It's still a mystery to me
How His infant eyes have seen the dawn of time
How His ears have heard an angel's symphony
But still Mary had to rock her Savior to sleep
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Heaven's love reaching down to save the world
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Son of God, Servant King
Here with us
You're here with us
--Here With Us, Joy Williams
I love the verses to this song... Every time I hear it, I get shivers. Sometimes it's easy to picture God as the Creator of the universe, so big and powerful with the angels praising Him up in heaven. And then this time of year it can be easy to picture Jesus as a baby -- we see pictures and nativity scenes all the time, and think aww He's so cute. But how often do we put the two together? This is God -- the One who made us, who makes everything in the world happen so perfectly, who formed the stars and oceans and ladybugs -- as a baby. Like us.
Seeing so many of my friends and relatives with new babies this past year, I look at their pictures and try to imagine God looking like that. And then I think about the little one growing inside of me, and realize God went through that part too...
The last part of the second verse really gets to me, even brings me to tears sometimes: "How His ears have heard an angel's symphony -- But still Mary had to rock her Savior to sleep..." Wow. I picture Mary cradling Him close, looking into His eyes, singing to Him as His eyes drift closed in peaceful sleep... Did she sing Psalms to Him? Did she realize she was actually holding and singing to the One those Psalms were written about and for? Was she a good singer? I'm sure it was nothing compared to the angelic choir He had just left... Yet there is nothing quite like the voice of a mother.
It's still a mystery to me...
mys*ter*y [mis-tuh-ree, -tree] -- noun
1. anything that is kept secret or remains unexplained or unknown
2. any affair, thing, or person that presents features or qualities so obscure as to arouse curiosity or speculation
-dictionary.com
