Tomorrow my eldest turns 28.
I was 28 when she happened into my heart.
I look at her face and savor her being and realize gratitude so exquisite it pains my heart.
Leah’s was a scary delivery. Not too many details, I promise, but by the time they had decided it was time to deliver her via surgery her vitals were compromised and as they put me under in the midst of great consternation all I could do was pray.
When I awoke there was this baby. A girl baby healthy, blond-fuzzed, inquisitive and somehow grounded and she was alive alive alive and my heart has not ceased its gratitude song since.
Parenting is a most holy act of stewardship. Our days are marked with the unfolding of miracle celebrated in the mundane: smiles and steps and words and hugs. Small hands held in our own grow to reach out into the world touching in ways powerful and unique.
This morning I shared birthday brunch with my three babies and the birthday girl’s beloved. Leah’s posse basked in her beauty and celebrated her being.
Following the feast, Leah and I went shopping for suitable clothes for a woman newly hired in a job tailor-made for her (she is working for Woman Venture, an organization that provides support for women starting businesses).
As we walked together on an amazingly fine October morning, she put her hand in mine.
Oh, for a thousands tongues to sing.