While the grandparents were here, I moved Vava into Pascal's room - slid her dresser down the hall, and put her duvet on the spare bed in his room. This left V's room (with the big double bed) free for our parents.
Now, every morning, Pascal wakes up early and calls to Vava. She wakes up and crawls into his crib or lifts him out to cuddle with her before they come to our room and find us. She's really not a huge fan of waking up on the wrong side of 6am, so this morning I asked her if she wanted me to help her move back to her room.
She thought it over for a minute and then shook her head, reluctantly. "No," she answered, "Pascal needs me."
"He'll be fine," I assured her, "he was fine before you moved in, and he'll be fine when you move back."
"No," she stood firm, "he's scared without me. He told me. He wants me to stay with him."
(Oh, that precious four-letter preposition is the Christmasiest one of all: with.)
Just like us, aching for a Saviour, longing for a God-with-us.
He moved into our room, wrapped up in what my kids call "waddling clothes," and meets us where we are. His presence comforts us when we cry out in the dark, and in the end, He holds our hand and takes us to our Father.
He loves us so much, God-with-us.
Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.
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