The balance shifts gently. Babies pull me from death to life. It's Sunday. I move to the back of the sanctuary. My eye spots a four- month- old --brown skin, curly black hair-- determined to stuff a too big fist into his mouth. One-year-old Leah stands beside her father, then turns and gives me a high five. I remember that weeks ago I told God I wanted one, and wonder if in this moment She stands incarnate in this child. Her brother, Elliot, five, shows me his new scooter. I bought him a toy power wheelchair for his birthday. He finds mine fascinating, so I decided he needs one he can play with. If he plays with power chairs and learns that I love him, he will never be afraid of people in wheelchairs or think of us as something other than normal, and that will change the world. Moments later, Dania, also one, stands by the altar. Her mother has walked with her around the sanctuary, collecting money in a basket for our local food pantry. Dania is suppose to place the basket on the floor, but she stops and stares at the pastor, who is her father. I watch as the realization dawns: Eyes wide, her face breaks into a grin. She runs and wraps her arms around his legs. Of such is the Kingdom.
Today I am going to the Botanic Gardens. For hours I will smell the wet earth, feel the crisp air on my face, and immerse myself in the sight of turning leaves. Some maternal force will envelop me, and I'll be at home. Bon Bagaille, "a good thing," as my mother would say.
A Good Thing, and me in it: