My days are filled with coffee and sleepiness — with morning light, evening light, and the shadows in between. The baby is alternately hyper and tired, filling moments with giggling as well as sobbing. Her breath rises and falls, always a steady rythmn, always a constant hymn humming a reminder of the life which God has given.
These are captured moments, frozen still in time by the click of shutter. This is every day, painted in soft hues. I see these moments now like suspended drops of dew, reflecting what the sun has to say by casting diamond shadows on the ground.
She’s enraptured by everything, reaching out her tiny hand to take in the newness of every experience.
I hold her close, breathing in her perfect essence. She fits so perfectly in my arms. I love these moments more than I can tell you.
And yet, these are days of solitude. Josiah leaves each morning, working hard for us. Aveline plays with her basket of treasures while I make breakfast and start the day’s chores.
This is a different life than I’ve ever had before. Not just because this sweet little being has come to be a part of us, but because we have followed the Pillar of Fire to the edge of the continent, here to Florida, the opposite coast of the place we called home. And “the God who has been my shepherd all my life [is my shepherd] to this day.” (Genesis 48:15)
The One who was, and is, and is to come.
She is a happy little thing, so peaceful, so content. She looks to us for everything she needs. It does not even occur to her to become anxious or stressed that we will not care for her tomorrow or the next day.
She just looks to us, in this moment, and trusts.
I want to look to God this same way. Oh Lord, “guarda mi alma…porque en Ti me refugio.” (Psalm 25:20)