The miracle of Christmas is that the creator of galaxies and stars and planets and oceans and land and living creatures and you and me, was so moved by love, that he became a baby in a feed trough.
“Do you know what makes a treasure?” I asked her. She looked up in curiosity.
“The person who finds it.”
When sin flipped the world on its’ head, he answered in kind. Instead of sending a valiant, conquering messiah with regal pronouncements, he became a soft-skinned baby, a weakling, to turn the world upright again.