They were once babies

by Rod Smith

“Dad, where are you?” 

Every morning for years these were the first words out of my older son’s mouth.

“Dad, scratch my back and sing,” was my younger son’s oft-repeated goodnight ritual. 

By this time we’d moved out of the beautiful baby days. 

With all the tween years involved, it was easy to forget the baby years, the work, the mountains of laundry. 

It is easy to forget the sleepless nights.

But, tucked into the mundane and the repetitive, are things so miraculous that a middle of the night baby moments can transform into holy encounters. 

Our lives together were, and are, lessons of love, moments of kindness, volumes of vulnerability, sometimes encountered so powerfully and painfully they could only have come from the heart and mind of the Divine.

“I’m exactly where I was when you said goodnight. I have hardly moved.”

“No, I did not sing only two verses. I sang all three. But you were asleep by then.” 

When the washing machine dies and the dog jumps the snowy fence to explore the greater neighborhood and one son has a splinter in his finger and the other is hungry and needs his nappy (diaper) changed and the bills are mounting in a stack of unopened mail, it’s easy to lose sight of the trail of miracles that come with every baby.

One Comment to “They were once babies”

  1. I watched a Mom at a department store the other day with one VERY busy toddler and a little fellow maybe two years older. The little one was into EVERYTHING and her Mom was scurrying to catch up AND get her shopping done. I saw the Mom again just as I was leaving and the kids were as busy as ever. I took a moment to place my hand on her arm and look her right in the eye as I told her “I know it’s hard to believe right now, but you’re going to miss these days.” And gave her a look of pure I-get-it love 💕

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