Their Minds Touched

The Father watched for several minutes, careful not to make a sound so as not to disturb this most precious of sons. Jesus’ brow furrowed, and the Father wondered what weighed so heavily on His son’s shoulders. On silent feet he moved forward, the gently swishing of his white robes the only thing to betray His presence, yet His son did not hear.

He reached out to place a hand on Jesus’ shoulder. Though startled, the crease between his brow quickly disappeared with the love that transplanted the worry. “Father,” he breathed, and stood quickly to embrace Him.

I will never tire of this, the Father thought. The joy a simple hug could bring to His heart continued to surprise Him. Even after eons.

“Please, Father, sit with me if you have a moment.”

The Father smiled upon this beloved spirit child of His. “For you, there is always a moment.”

The two sat down, one facing the other, and once again the Father saw the crease burrowing into His son’s brow. “What troubles you, my son?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s just…I don’t know. It’s almost time.”

The Father nodded. He had searched for His son, ready and yet aching to offer one last goodbye. “Yes. The first Christmas Advent is about to take place.”

The corner of Jesus mouth turned up. “Christmas? Is that what they’ll call it?” The Father watched as His son rolled the word around a few times in his mind. “I like it. Christmas.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. “You know,” the Father said, a slight smile overtaking His lips, “they won’t even celebrate your birthday on the official day. For a large part of the world it’ll be in a season of cold and snow.”

A soft laugh escaped them both at the thought. Jesus breathed deeply, his mighty shoulders lifting a little. He would need such strength, to do all that was being asked. The Father leaned forward to catch Jesus’ attention. “Even now your earthly mother is preparing. She and Joseph are married, and have made the trip to Bethlehem. Are you ready?”

He watched as Jesus searched His face. What did he hope to find there?

“I want to be,” he whispered. “But-”

“Tell me. I can’t help you understand unless you ask.”

Still His son didn’t voice his concerns.

“Is it Mary? Or Joseph? They’ll be good parents, you know.”

At last He got a smile out of His son. “I know. I think they’re more worried about raising me than I am about going to them.”

“What is it then?” the Father entreated. “What has you so concerned?”

He was patient, allowing His son to at last put his thoughts together. When Jesus finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “Will I forget you? I don’t want to forget you.”

So much emotion in so few words.

“Oh my son.” He clasped Jesus to him, holding this remarkable spirit close. “You will never forget me. Not really. It is true a veil will be placed over your mind, but trust that knowledge of me will be made known to you through your parents.”

He pulled back, intent to look into His son’s eyes. “They will teach you, as every good parent teaches their child, and a testimony of me will grow deep within you. When the time is right, my son, I will make myself known unto you. This I promise.”

As Jesus nodded a flurry of activity erupted around them. The angels were preparing to sing. The time had come.

One last embrace, one more statement of, “I love you,” and he was gone. The Father sat back down, intent to take it all in. He heard the cry of the newborn babe. He heard the angel announce to a few shepherds of the birth. The joy and exultation of a mighty chorus of angels swept through Him. The first Christmas advent was complete.

So many things to absorb in such a short time. Through it all He listened to the cries of His son, knowing the shock of coming into the world. Mary’s voice, soft and gentle and pure, sang to their son a lullaby: one that echoed the music in His own heart. The baby’s cries quieted, and with peace came awareness.

For a moment, with an understanding no mortal could possibly grasp, He felt their minds touch and heard the word, “Father.”

It was enough.