I think it must reshape us, every time. The week-by-week womb-knitting, the mother-nesting in soft color to soothe and welcome, the stretching, wearying, growing desire for promised joy. And at the end, the pain that fades against the will to embrace new life pushed into air, blue, wet, wizened.
We are named again, mother, and we touch tiny fingers we knew were there, but could not imagine, even for having touched them before.
Was Piper ever so small? I look at her picture, little black eyes open on my chest, listening for the familiar, the heartbeat, my heart pulsing for her.
Now in December, it comes again, another shaping of me, another journey I can't choose, can't deny. My baby boy, a son, will wake to breath, passing through me into life I can't live without the God who has entered the path with me.
I know it will be different; nothing is ever the same. Nothing but Him who is I AM. My burden of knowledge brings the fear again, the uncertainty. Do you suppose fear existed before we tried to know what God knew? Knowing good from evil doesn't secure our lives.
How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God!Precious. From conception, the tiny movements, the moment of birth, the first breath, all leading to wonder and mother-embrace, to tiny wrinkled fingers on new, new hands to tell me of God's thoughts toward me.
How great is the sum of them!
If I should count them,
they would be more in number than the sand;
When I awake, I am still with You.
- Psalm 139:17-18
Time will pass, for we are bound by it here, and these new fingers will lose their wrinkles, lose this wizened little face and dreamy angel eyes that have known what I have known and forgot and am always seeking.
The waiting shapes me, and I stumble into Love with my fears, learning trust again, remembering His Life, holding to Hope I can't see. It is all faith, all Grace, all more than I really comprehend, more than I explain.
My dust is not enough for this; breathe Life into me, wrinkle my hands and my face and draw my eyes to Your face, my ears to the sound of Your heart, the music of Your voice, as a wet blue babe thrown up on Your breast, and love me, oh please love me more than I know how to love You.
This post also linked at Holy Experience for Walk With Him Wednesday.