Sometimes, I'm completely overwhelmed with the understanding of what a miracle Lily is. It hits me unexpectedly, catches me completely off guard.
Right now, after the 2 am feeding, I'm watching Lily drift to sleep. Her warm little body is snuggled against me, and as I rock, and stroke her fuzzy head, she makes involuntary facial expressions, first forming her mouth into a perfect little o and fluttering her eyelids, then smiling. She's very, very much alive. This is the same child I prayed for, begged God to allow me to meet. This is the very same child whose heartbeat I feared not hearing week after week at the Dr's office. This tiny person, who's breath I can feel on my skin, is the same being I watched take shape in the ultrasound pictures over nine months. Her little head rests in the crook of my arm, and I can feel that the back of her neck is smooth; there is no tumor, no hygroma, just loose skin to remind me of what was once there.
Sometimes, I'm caught up in the everyday drama of childbirth recovery, territorial toddler tantrums, sleepless nights, and spit-up. Every once in a while, though, my heart is completely open and I can fully see the magnitude of what God has done. It leaves me breathless.
What if we could see what God has done this Christmas? What if we could intimately know the miracle of Jesus' conception and birth? How would it change us to fully recognize He came to die for us? Are our hearts open enough to let it take our breaths away? Overwhelm us? Or are we too caught up in the everyday drama of shopping and wrapping and holiday parties ?
I pray, this Christmas season, that all the people I love get glimpses of miracles, particularly ones involving little babies.
