There was love.
So much love.
On and in and around, love moved your dad and me.
Sometimes, love was close at hand, fingering lines in silhouette. Other times, love stood back, just watching and waiting.
But, all the time, love was.
And that love?
It remained. Blossomed. Grew.
After a time, it began to seek you out.
And there was prayer, with hands spread atop my head and lips dripping desires at the doorstep of heaven.
At night, as I lay flat in the dark, you came to me in visions. And in the morning, your form began to shape itself in the deepest hiding places.
And slowly, beautifully, perfectly you became.
And, oh, how there was rejoicing!
For when you burst forth this side of heaven, I laughed. I cried Glory! and pulled you closer still.
You.were.a.miracle.
For more was born into our lives than just you.
More and bigger love--even greater than that which had stirred you into being--held fast to your feet and left trails of holy dust that sparkled as it flew and drifted and settled upon every living thing in the room.
Nothing was left untouched by the holy that day.
++++++
Yesterday, as I listened to the doctor explain to me, in scientific terms, the aspects of your uniqueness I couldn't help but marvel at the gift.
You, the gift.
Planted in my belly when I thought it was yet winter.
You, the gift.
Arriving with determined purpose and laughter right round.
You, the gift.
Always.
Because when love comes down, it leaves a trail.
As we walk this path of your life, complete with twists and turns unexpected, your finger, it trails in the milieu, leaving flecks of that first holy dust.
And it alights upon my coming in and my going out, my standing up and my kneeling down, my struggling and my accepting.
To walk with you means to walk into trust.
Right into its arms spread wide.
And it is there, beneath that wing that shelters, that I remember.
Love is always
on
and
in
and
around.
