Luke 19:40

Do You hear the stones cry out their praise?
Do You taste the steam as it rises from the melting snow, or feel the flashing wings of the hummingbird?

Do You see or smell, or is all that fleshly, embedded in the body?

Those trees outside -- are they as silent to You as they are to me? Or more so, since You have no ears to hear?

Perhaps You became flesh and dwelt among us not only for us, but for You, so that You could know Your creation in a new way.

For what are we, what are the stones or the snow or the hummingbird, but the product of Your immaterial hands, Your unbeating heart: wouldn't You want to feel the dirt under your knees as You prayed?

Wouldn't You long to touch the face of a child, or to crunch the fall leaves in Your hands?

Maybe we are Your eyes, Your hands, Your ears, not only because we have work to do in Your name, but also to share with You the beauty and tragedy and joy of all You have made.

Maybe we complete You.