People turn their faces to the side as I approach them through the mall. I'm tempted to hold my breath until they're past - ok, I did hold my breath until they had passed. Unaware, until this instant, the ground feels shaky under us again. Whom do we engage? At what distance? Who do I believe? Who really knows what's going on? I catch the trace of a song, a spiritual in the midst of holiday schlock. Transfixed, I wonder that enslaved African-Americans under conditions far more grievous than my social anxieties, could sing 'He's got the whole world in his hands, the whole wide world in his hands'. It's become my Christmas carol for today. The vulnerable God/child of the cradle, held by parental hands, subverts the accepted order and we discover it is we who are held. This is our position, our primary comportment in the face of anxiety - we are held. Settle in. GS