a faith observed: My baby is suddenly a big boy

Saturday, January 23, 2010

My baby is suddenly a big boy

My sister-in-law, Jen, told me to wait and see how much bigger your toddler looks after having a newborn baby. Oh my goodness, was I in for a surprise! Suddenly Simon seems HUGE. I think he is actually going through a bit of a growth spurt, but wow, where has my baby gone? He can suddenly climb up the slide all by himself and swing from the bar at the top of the slide. And how gorgeous is it to see him get all cute and cuddly with little Grace. It appears that he really loves his baby, as he calls her. Tonight as I was putting him to sleep we heard her crying and he said, "Baby's crying." I asked him if I should go get her to stop and he said "uh, huh" to which I replied, "That's a good idea. Mommy's know how to get babies to stop crying but daddies don't always know how to!" And he graciously let me leave the room earlier than usual, without seeming upset about it at all. What a sweetie. It was nice for me to see, as our sweet little angel has been out of joint this week. Thankfully he hasn't taken it out on Grace at all, but I've said more than once this week, "Where has my sweet little baby gone to?" as we've seen more tantrums in the past week than we have in the past few months combined. I'm praying that this phase will pass in a few weeks (or months?) as he learns to accept the many changes in our life. But today was a great day - and sweet baby - er, boy- was back!

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This is me, a faith observed.

C.S. Lewis writes about the pain of losing his beloved wife, Joy, in his book, "A Grief Observed". In some ways this is my attempt to share my journey through grief and back into life, as the past nine months have been characterized by an immeasurable longing for my beloved father, who died suddenly this past January.

After months of hibernation from the internet, I unexpectedly find myself able to re-begin this blog and connect with my larger community of family and friends. This blog will likely reflect less of the intensity and depth of my pain and more of the simplicity and ordinary joy that keeps my life full - namely days running after our little boy, Simon Pierre. But it is because of the incredible love and presence that defined my relationship with my father, that I feel I can will myself to not just survive each day but to pour that same kind of love and attention onto Simon.

My father was an endless source of strength to me, a pillar of faith. His last words, spoken to my mother as he passed into that which is unseen, "God is good - good all the time", have remained with me through this dark cloud of grief. And when God seems hidden, when justice seems to be losing out, when life is unfair, and when death swallows up the one I most love, I remember my father's words and breathe in this promise, that the God of love is in the process of restoring that which has been destroyed.

And as my father told me in dream I've had since his death, "Look to Jesus. As a father, to point you towards Him is the best gift I can give to you." So here I am, this is me, a faith to be observed.

I hold onto that which is not always seen- the promise of God's goodness, the hope that one day in the promised new heavens and earth- on a grassy hill or a sand covered beach- the lion and the lamb will lie down side by side and I, too, will lie down side by side, next to my father, and we will laugh and laugh until there are no more tears left to cry.