I remember the very moment I first lay eyes upon my second son, wet and bright-eyed and so fresh from God.
In that instant, when new life breathes fire into tired bones, I saw her in his face.
Grandma Phyllis.
Although she had left this world to join God and all the saints six years before that moment, she graced us with her presence in that holy moment. Her nose sloped across my son’s face and that little chin of his? It was all her.
Just like that, she was there, among us, smiling beams of glory right into that holy space.
How can one not laugh, like Sarah, at the mystery of it all, captured in such a moment?
That in the twisting and the stretching, in the pushing and the pulling, in the rising and the falling of every day, strung one upon the other, God is weaving legacy into us.
When we burst forth this side of heaven, we come wrapped in mystery. Our very skin and bone is pieced with story from those who have lived before us.
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You can read the rest of this post over here at SheLoves Magazine.
I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
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