oh, this Love that will not let me go

Her legs dangle down to my knees. I catch my breath, from both her weight and her new dangling reach. I guess I never thought her limbs would get this long, never thought her body would stretch out of the folded-up position under my chin. I never thought kissing that precious spot on the bridge of her nose would be a rare treat.

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Ordinary Time

Yesterday, I was bad at being alive. I transmorphed after those early, solitary moments of apartment sunshine into a turtle snail, a snurtle... or something that could escape inside itself without explanation. Except that I was in almost constant motion - in my mind and with my hands. I jostled household chores early and made plans for midday, but everything played like a private concert of dischord - all the notes were wrong and only I could hear the sound. 

I guess that was death - the awkward and cold angles of it - keeping me aware of my mortality and making me a human I did not recognize.

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do not forget you are nothing

It started like a subtle uneasiness, bubbling somewhere between my bulging belly and my disappearing collarbone. I am not nervous, exactly. Lost, treading, hidden, furrowed, heavy... but not exactly nervous. Whatever it is, beats in the blood stretching out toward my fingertips.

"I am alive," this baby reminds me with a flutter. I watch the rise and the fall, the ebb and the flow of the new life hidden in me that is starting to hide my toes when I look down. It must be so dark in there, like the sea or outer space or the deep underground. Someone once told me that my emotional state affects the babies I carry. But then, I was pregnant in grief and birthed a joy child. So, even if this baby is perceiving my emotional waves or my pregnant negligence, there must still be hope.

Can this baby feel my strange worry, hovering just above the first home God is building around his/her life? Or maybe the refuge inside this womb is absolute - a formidable, soft fortress against whatever ails me on this side of birth.

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chasing after wind

"I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind." Ecclesiastes 1:14

She clung to my shoulders with her arms and knees, her neck wrapped on mine as the fountain misted our backs and absorbed our squeals. As soon as the wind changed, she anticipated the next mist and around the Bailey Fountain we went - a blurred, bouncing spectacle for the tourists posing in front of the mysterious, mythological scene. The sun beat down just as the mist dewed our faces and there are no photos of our delight. It lived so perfectly in that moment, just after 12 noon on a Tuesday.

Her little, tumbling giggle surprised us both. It was almost too generous - too full and wild. And, if I was guessing, I would say this is a little bit why little children can come to Jesus. 

This full and wild generosity of a child is unrestrained - like their Maker, ready to unleash lavish goodness in response to beauty and in the middle of delight.
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