On the 6^th day of December many Christians around the world observed the Feast Day of St. Nicholas. As Bishop of Myra in ancient Turkey, Nicholas was a kind and generous man in the third century who became the patron saint of children and sailors. Nicholas’ legacy as a gift-giver gave rise to the legend of St. Nick (or Santa Claus) that continues to this day.

But on St. Nicholas Day this year, I found myself pondering another person with a similar name and a much smaller frame than the historical figure. The person who occupied my attention was a pint-size human born to my youngest daughter a month ago. In an homage to his Greek-American grandfather, they named him Niko Gregory Moore.

Truth be told, Niko’s birth was complicated. He arrived ten weeks early and tipped the scales at just under two pounds. He entered the world with serious issues a full-term baby would not typically have. In his first twenty-two days of life, our tiny saint underwent three significant surgeries. It’s been a tough beginning, but all the same, most days are good.

Words cannot adequately express how grateful we are for advancements in medical technology. In spite of the lengthy stay Niko will likely have at Seattle Children’s Hospital, this precious child of God has brought much joy to our world.

But like another infant boy born a very long time ago against the backdrop of challenging circumstances, Niko is surrounded by a host of those who love him. His family, his doctors and his nurses are his continuous cheer squad. This little angel sleeps in heavenly peace much of the time. And we pray for an abundance of silent nights (except for the hum of life-sustaining machines).  

There are no sounds of cattle lowing and donkeys braying at Niko’s “manger.” But there are sounds of computerized equipment and alarms that monitor his vitals and sustain his life. Cocooned in a cradle of wires, tubes, probes and miniature Pampers, our little Niko stretches his tiny feet and arms with rhythmic grace while his adoring parents and his grandparents look on. 

Like the awestruck shepherds who stood around the infant Jesus, we peek into Niko’s high-tech incubator with reverential awe and nervous optimism. We exercise our faith muscles embracing fear and uncertainty, complications and confusion as well as hopes and dreams. 

As you can see, this Christmas finds me connecting to the events of Christ’s nativity on a deeply personal level. A newborn beginning life in less-than-ideal circumstances makes for a natural comparison. And welcoming a baby into the family this time of the year ratchets the comparison up a notch. It’s as though I’ve been hearing the Baby’s cry from a hay-filled manger in Bethlehem. 

Ironically, because my grandson has been on a ventilator since his premature birth, I am still waiting to hear him cry. All the same, the situation we are living through allows me to relate to the ancient Christmas story with clarity. In the midst of our anxious and joyful days, I am reminded of Immanuel (God-with-us). There are ongoing whispers that God is with us.

But I’m not the only one who can hear Immanuel’s cry. So can you. The familiar message, music and traditions of the season intersect with where you live. There is every reason to believe that Immanuel is attempting to get your attention. 

But hearing the cry from the manger requires slowing down and shutting up. The ancient Hebrew poet was right. It takes being still to know that God is in the room. As you take time to reflect on the Biblical account of Jesus’ birth, dust for Divine fingerprints. Allow the references to the supernatural in the Biblical texts to encourage you in the circumstances that find you anxious, fearful or hopeless.

The birth of my daughter’s son finds our family drawing closer to God. And in the mystery of it all, we are drawn closer to each other. As you listen for the Baby’s cry this season, I pray the same for you. After all, that is what the birth of Jesus was intended to do!