I cried twice today.
Every mother's prayer. Babies. Her babies. Those seemingly perfect-in-every way babies that grow up to be imperfect human beings who need each other and learn the hard way how much they need the Lord. So what was so sad about this beautiful picture I've put in your mind?
I didn't say I was sad. I merely said I was crying.
I held a baby boy this evening, almost 16 weeks old. Peach-fuzz-baby-smelling head. Chipmunk cheeks. He fussed, then I did the baby sway with him (I haven't forgotten how because I still do it in church with no baby in my arms). He fell asleep on my shoulder, so I sagged my weary back into the couch and this onesied-bundle did the baby-wriggle-gonna-nestle-up-real-close-heavy-sigh REM sleep thing on my chest. And as I covered him with his blanket, I cried. It was a moment that took me back 31 years and that overwhelming feeling of baby passion just overtook me. Sometimes it doesn't even matter whose baby it is.
I went to see the unveiling of the engagement pictures of my eldest baby and his beautiful fiance. Fresh faces. Brilliant leaves. Autumn sunshine. Adoring smiles. Sappy (albeit tear-jerking) music background.
I cried again.
I cried out of gratitude for three healthy grown babies and a soon-to-be daughter-in-law. I cried out of angst for days gone by. I cried over mistakes I've made and things left undone that may or may not have changed anything at all. The embrace of His grace now brings me peace in my exhaustion and I'm ready to fall into that snuggly sleep just like those babies used to. Without the onesie.
But just one more time, I think I'll cry.
Three times today.
Tea tonight: Numi Monkey King