One of my dearest friends lay in the cold Kansas soil. November winds blew the tree limbs outside the window where we sat. My husband and I listened as the grieving spouse talked, his sorrow, like tears fell on our ears.
“There’s something about skin,” he said. “Yesterday, I walked on icy pavement. I waited for her touch on my arm, but it didn’t come, and when I looked around, she wasn’t there.”
Joseph’s thoughts tumbled painfully over what to do about Mary, about a child that wasn’t his growing in her womb. Pain rolled through his gut. Shock dulled his steps. The prophet’s words came to him in the night of tossed about anguished sleep. An angel spoke from Isaiah.
“Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel” which is translated, “God with us.” Matt. 1:23 (Isaiah 7:14); NKJV.
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.” Hebrews. 4:15; ESV
God with us.
Living among us.
Joseph and Mary leaned to kiss the soft skin of the tiny hands and feet of Immanuel.