I have brown eyes, a fact I have always found rather interesting. In 10th grade AP Biology I learned all about genes and how they are passed on, dominant genes more likely to show up in offspring than recessive. My teacher shared a true story about a boy who sat in her class a few years before I did who realized that his brown eyes could not have come from his blue-eyed parents. He went home that day and told them what he learned, and his parents admitted for the first time that he was adopted. Not the way *I* would tell an adopted kid, but a true story.
I too went home and asked my blue and green eyed parents how it was possible that I was their child-- after all, even my brother has blue eyes. Mine are golden brown with streaks of yellow. They chuckled a little and assured me I was their's. My grandmothers both have brown eyes--in fact my eyes are shaped exactly like my dad's mom's, down to the differences between our left and right eyes. I was and am convinced that I was their offspring, and later I realized an important lesson.
God is not limited by genetics.
He chooses to operate within what we call "normal" and "scientific" on a regular basis, but the color of my eyes is not limited to a simple biological formula.
Apparently, my daughter's eyes are not either.
Juliana has her dad's eyes (recessive blue, not dominant brown)--shocking, bright, piercing. Blue like the sky after strong winds have cleared it of all clouds. Blue like the waters of Hawaii--clear, deep, dazzling.
Today she and I went to the mall to buy curtains for my room during a DoorBusters sale at JC Penny. Just the two of us. That does not happen too often, but I love it when it does. First she picked out her clothes to wear. She choose her Cwismiss (Christmas) dress. Why not? Then she choose brown shoes and a grey sweatshirt. Sure thing kiddo.
On our drive over, she got to pick out what songs we listened to. She chose "Blessed Be Your Name," "Nothing But the Blood of Jesus," and "Grace Flows Down."
As we were listening, she asked me, "Mama, what's Jesus' last name?"
I turned the music way down, had her repeat her question in case I misunderstood, and tried to think of an answer. If you ask Jules who Jesus is, she says, "Jesus Loves Me." We tell her, "That's right sweetie. Jesus loves you so much." There's time for deeper theology later; right now Jesus loving her is enough.
I finally answered her question. I told her Jesus does not have a last name, but we do call Him Jesus Christ, or Jesus the Christ. She was satisfied and wanted the music turned back up. :o)
A few minutes later, in the midst of the two of us singing along, she said, "Mom, it's birfday."
"What's birthday honey?"
"Cwissmiss, it's Jesus' birfday."
That's right my blue eyed girl. Christmas is when we celebrate Jesus' birth. For without His birth, He could not have died for us.
Some people think two year olds don't have the brain capacity to understand God and deep things. But just as God is not limited by genetics, neither is He limited by our age. My little one knows enough right now, and reminded me of 2 simple truths today. Jesus loves us. He loves me. And sometimes that's all I need to know. And Christmas is not about anything else--though we so often make it about so many things--it's about the birth of one baby who's death would change the world forever.