Joy From a Child’s Open Arms
You wouldn’t expect a restaurant to be a place of epiphany between strangers.
Yet that is just what I witnessed two days before Christmas.
Our family was dining with our in-laws at a local eatery—one of those places where coffee refills come freely and conversation hums like background music. Families and friends, young and old, gathered for brunch, all buoyed by the lighthearted expectancy that seems to hover in the air just before this holiday.
Then I noticed a little girl—perhaps two years old—light on her heels, waltzing over to the booth beside ours. She leaned forward with eager, delighted eyes, as if the world were made entirely of potential friends. Two women, their conversation interrupted, glanced down at this small bundle of joy who had entered their space without hesitation or apology.
Trailing behind her came an elderly couple. The grandfather’s hair was neatly combed; his wife wore a small spray of holly pinned to her coat lapel. They were clearly in pursuit of their granddaughter, who had decided—quite confidently—to make friends with complete strangers.
I wasn’t close enough to hear their conversation, but it was easy enough to imagine it. The grandparents likely began with a blend of apology and delight, relying on their granddaughter’s charm to smooth the awkwardness of the moment.
No Need for Apology
“I’m sorry… she’s very outgoing,” the grandfather might have said, chuckling with practiced embarrassment.
“She just walked right up to us,” one of the women could have replied in a friendly manner. “But how could anyone mind?”
“She put her arms out and smiled,” the other might have added, “as if she wanted to be picked up.”
What struck me was how long the exchange lasted—longer than the polite nods and quick smiles usually shared between strangers. Their voices carried a sprightly warmth, the kind that suggests real connection rather than social obligation. These adults clearly hadn’t known one another moments before, and yet here they were, lingering in shared laughter.
Perhaps they grasped at something they held in common: memories of raising children, reflections on how their own children once interacted so freely with adults, or the bittersweet recognition of how quickly the innocence of youth slips away.
Did the little girl glimpse something in the younger woman’s face that reminded her of her own mother, who was not present? Did the woman in turn feel her heart stirred by this child, just a year or two removed from babyhood, awakening memories—or longings—of her own?
We don’t need to know.
Complete strangers were drawn together, if only for a moment. And this innocent child—unaware of social rules, introductions, or caution—became the unknowing bridge between them, gathering four adults into a small circle of shared joy.
No Blind Chance
The whole episode felt like a gift—and more than that, a quiet insight into what Christmas is all about.
It was no blind chance that the Son of God chose to enter the world as a child. I’m not a theologian, but maybe He could have arrived fully grown, ready to teach, to heal, to feed the crowds. But instead, he came as an infant—small, pure, humble, and vulnerable—even spending nine months hidden in Mary’s womb, and spending years growing into the fullness of his humanity.
In doing so, he drew closer to us than we might ever have imagined. A child disarms us. A child invites trust. A child reaches out without calculation.
The baby Jesus, arms outstretched in countless paintings, icons, and manger scenes, still reaches toward us. He invites friendship—not only from those who linger near the manger, but also from those who have wandered far from it, and even from those who have never dared to come close.
Perhaps that is what the little girl in the restaurant revealed: that God sometimes meets us not through grand gestures or formal introductions, but through innocence, openness, and the fearless offering of oneself to another.
May your Christmas gatherings be filled with such moments—unexpected, gentle, and grace-filled. And may you have eyes to recognize the holy encounter when it wanders into your midst, light on its feet, with arms open wide.