About talking to Jesus when lying in bed unable to sleep

I wish I could be a tiny angel, who could flutter, like a butterfly, up to heaven and whisper in your ear how much I love you.

I can see you as a beautiful baby, smiling and gurgling, lying in the cradle that your father-on-earth, Joseph, made for you in his own workshop, before you were born, and in which they laid you when they brought you home from Bethlehem and from the temple in Jerusalem. 

I can see you as a young child, playing around your mother's feet as she went about her daily chores and, as a young lad, playing out on the streets with the other children of the village.

Then, as a young man, I see you in the workshop, learning from your father how to plane and shape the wood into furniture and all the bits and bobs needed by the community.

I can see you as a young adult, taking care of Joseph in his old age and, later, of Mary in her widowhood,  creating beautiful wooden pieces as your father had done before you; smiling at the customers and their children, laughing with your neighbours, supporting each other in times of difficulties.

Then, I see you off with your friends, for a week's break, to listen to your cousin, John, who's preaching by the River Jordan. 

Then, things were never the same again. Thanks be to God, Our Father.