tiny wrinkled fingers on new, new hands

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


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!
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
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.

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.

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This post also linked at Holy Experience for Walk With Him Wednesday.

8 comments:

Amber@theRunaMuck said...

Two or more gather here and agree.

I pray it, too, and know it to be true - we are loved more than we know how to love, but we're learning, and it is the greatest.

Maria said...

And as we wait, our hands wrinkle again ... we forget the useless-noisy thoughts that jam our heads... we see with innocence again ~ Thank you, Kelly for this beautiful imagery that will stay with me for a long visit ~ Maria

L.L. Barkat said...

I love those fingers, curling warm, light.

Laure said...

i entered in ...

these words

to Him

you dare to let me see ...

Deborah Ann Erdmann said...

Your beautiful heart shows through in your writing. And I thought I was a writer! I am blown away...

Carrie said...

Um, wow. You are such an amazing writer. It is so great to read your posts, you just capture every feeling I have & put it into words SO much better than I ever could. Loved this post. :) It made me smile and cry. :)

deb said...

knowing good from evil , doesn't secure lives, nor does living either sometimes.
faith does
this was truly beautiful Kelly

Lela and Jay said...

Wow~ that is my heart! I loved the way this was put. May we come like little children...I do want Him to love me more than I know how to love Him. Be blessed for sharing~

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