CRADLE HANGER

 

CRADLE HANGER

I picked up a small cradle hanger today—
felt toys, animals, soft clouds,
a gentle little orbit of color
meant to twirl above a crib
and keep a newborn entertained.

I’d bought it for the Christmas crib I was arranging
the one meant for Baby Jesus.
A simple ritual, a quiet act of care.
But when I lifted it over the tiny manger,
something shifted inside,
and the truth rose to the surface—
What was I really doing?

Holding up a tiny toy
before a Presence - the source of light itself
needed a trinket to stay amused ???

And then the realization arrived—
not sharp, not accusing,
but with the ease of something obvious:
it is never the divine that needs hangers.
It is always us.

We, the adult infants of this world,
still reaching upward,
still wailing for brighter comforts,
still collecting small distractions
to keep the dark corners of our minds quiet.

Give us a success,
a celebration,
a distraction, a dream—
and we soften for a while,
spellbound by the little glints
we mistake for permanence.

Take them away,
and the old cry returns—
full-bodied, familiar, ancient.
We have not travelled far
from the first cradle.

Perhaps that is why the universe
keeps sends small mercies from above us—
sunsets, seasons, fragments of kindness,
the warmth of a hand,
a sudden clarity—
circling quietly just beyond reach
to calm the noise, we carry.

Today, when I placed the cradle hanger
over the crib I had prepared,
I realized I wasn’t decorating for Christmas.
I was confronting myself.

A reminder that the truest prayer
may be the stillness of a child
who finally stops grasping,
and simply looks up—
not for toys, not for proofs,
but in quiet wonder
at the One who holds
every string.