These Broken Vessels 2 Corinthians 4:7 "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us."

God, Sculptor of the very life in whom He hollowed out a space for His might made tiny.
The God-Baby ripened in His mother's womb.
The mother He had formed.
The mother whose days He had ordained.
The God-Baby grew until the time was right and the mother's flesh howled, "Now!"
With much trembling and water and blood, He burst forth to greet the very air and earth that He had spoken into existence.
Life.
This God-Baby, our King.
Our Savior.
Cradling of a mother's arms. Kisses. Whispers and words of tender love.
And the God-Baby flourished into the God-Man whose love, tender and fierce, compelled Him to travel unswervingly the road to a cross.
More trembling and water and blood.
And the God-Man burst forth from life to death.
Yet, not death, but life.
Life.
Life.
Life eternal for those whom He had hewn and painted with His palette.
Life eternal for those whose heart cry resounds, "I believe!"
There is only grace here.