Last night I held little Silver. At first, she was all scrunched up the way babies do sometimes, with her tiny back arched and her legs pulled up underneath and her face torqued up like she tasted a lemon. After a moment or two, she settled in and fell back into a deep sleep. She’s less than a week old and she already looks so different than the day she was born.
I held her and cried. Big tears soaked my eyeballs and a few found their way down my face.
Chris sat just across from me, visiting with Nancy, enjoying the buzz of a house full of people and love and life. He is one of the best men I’ve ever known, full of strength and honor and grace and faith. He leads worship at our church on Saturdays, but he leads us all in worship with his life. His whole life is a wellspring of love and creativity and service and connection.
Summer was just to my left, holding two-year-old Willow in her arms, comforting, mothering, imparting grace and peace and love and identity. She is as tired as any mom of a newborn might be. Yet she is beautiful beyond all description. Her presence in my life continually draws me into a deeper place in God. For me, watching her be a mom isn’t so very different than when she leads us in worship. All of her life is a prophetic song.
And me. I am learning to see people. I have given myself permission to love deeply, to (as my friend Amber says) feel all the feels. I haven’t always lived that way but now I am learning to be fully present in my life, to be aware, to wonder, to love, to speak. I am alive.