The Stuff of Life

The last couple of weeks have been by turns irritable and joyous, chaotic and orderly, grumpy and patient, noisy and calm; heck, this list could go on and on ad nauseam, so I’ll spare you the litany. It’s all reducible, though, to this salient fact: Children are the stuff of life. I say fact because anyone who is a parent can attest to this self-evident proposition. It is frankly undeniable and to do so would be a travesty, even a tragedy, of the first order. I can no longer conceive of a life apart from my wife and little angels, nor would I wish to do so.

Sara is quite the spitfire! She already has her father wrapped around her soft, tiny fingers. To start with, Sara is the world’s smallest magician, a veritable Houdini. We swaddle her so tightly that she might as well be in a straight jacket, and yet she still manages to squirm her hands free every time. So frustrating or amusing, take your pick! Pacifiers are anathema to this child. Don’t try it. Don’t even think it. She will spit that sucker out so fast it will make your head spin. And you have never heard such exploding poopies –that’s right, I said poopies—which issue forth from such a miniscule creature. It sounds like a mudslide is threatening the foundations of the house, but it is hardly a trickle.

At the end of the day, I marvel with exceeding marvel at this most precious gift from God. My life has forever been transformed for the better. I unite my voice with the celestial choirs in Heaven for granting me the most amazing gift of a beautiful, healthy child with which the Lord has seen fit to bless me. I hope and pray that I will raise this miracle of life to give glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, without whose grace I would be a lost soul in the dark wilderness of this world. Amen.