Elijah had a rough day with naps today. N left yesterday for a conference, and I wonder if he senses it. It was late afternoon before he finally fell asleep on my lap.

I looked at his rosy cheeks, his film of dark hair, his little brow unfurrowing, and all of it—his hands, the scratches on his face from his untrimmed nails, that dent between his lips and nose—it all made me want to weep. What is it about pure innocence, such uncomplicated thereness that makes me cry? I wanted to tell him I’m sorry for the things he’ll suffer. I’m sorry that the world is so big, and we’re small. That I’ll miss holding him like this when he grows older. That the way he looks up at me lately, with eyes so full of wonder, so full of hope and anticipation, and sets his hand on my cheek, it fills me up with holiness. It makes me believe, even for just that second, that maybe this, this is tasting God. And that maybe he’s literally getting what I long so deeply for: to reach out for and actually touch the face of God. To look into her eyes, maybe after a fit of crying because I wonder if I’m alone, and get to see and feel and even smell that she’s real, and warm, and present, and smiling on me.

Sleep well, dear boy. Sleep in a cloud of lovedness. May we fill each other’s lives with God.

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 26th, 2006 at 7:37 pm and is filed under Motherhood, Mindfulness, Religion/Spirituality. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.