Bellybutton

There have been many surprises over the past five months – since the day he toddled into my arms.

One of the most poignant to me is how often I think of his mother.

I am his mama.  I am smooching his face, drying his tears, changing his diapers, teaching him to share, cuddling him, smoothing his hair/his heart, and showing him how we love.

But before me, for two and a half years, there were a few nannies.

And before then, for three days and nine months before that, there was a mother who intimately knew him – her sacred position, fixed.  Another woman who felt him growing inside her, who felt her son roll, hiccup, and come forth into our light.

As I touched his belly button this morning, as I often do, I could not help but ponder over the woman who once was his everything.

Does he resemble her?  Do her lips peak into a little cupid’s bow like his?  How is the curvature of her face?  Are her ear lobes petite like his?   Does she have his calm spirit?  Does she love books, animals, and being outside like him?  Does she have a contagious joy about her as he does?

IMG_2425

This is normal really.  A brief mention of someone wondering about their past, or a medical professional asking me about Leo’s medical history, will send me down a rabbit trail of thoughts and possibilities as to his story before me.

The questions that dance in my mind will remain unanswered, which lends itself to imagining possible scenarios.  I think I have visualized Leo’s mother in every possible social construct, wanting to connect with her situation and her decision (or lack thereof as she may not have had a choice at all).

I know I’ll always wonder and imagine.  

And if I feel this way, if I do; I cannot presume to grasp the thoughts that will one day play in Leo’s mind.

Thoughts, thoughts for years to come but for now – his belly button – a smooth, round, perfect reminder of a life that predicated his and made his possible.

…A life that we will forever Honor and hold high in Gratitude.

IMG_2341

My Father’s Daughter

I am my father’s daughter.

As I walked the forest last night hiding plastic Easter eggs, I realized that I was smiling as I worked, giddy with anticipation. As I looked for perfect little hiding spots, I remembered all of the Easters spent with my dad, the egg hunt master of ceremonies, his excitement palpable.  Aloud, with a laugh bubbling on my lips, I said, “I am my father‘s daughter.”

This morning as I await the children waking and beginning this sacred day, I again am reminded that I am my father’s daughter.  I am a daughter of two fathers: one earthly, one heavenly. 

I am like my earthly father in countless ways from our large noses, to our insatiable need to ask questions and know other’s experiences, to our desire for familial and social peace which rules our conduct and conversations, and on and on I could go.  I delight in our similarities because I love him and want to emulate him.

IMG_7372

And my heavenly father? Am I like him?  Do I treat others as He would?  Do I see others as He would?  Do I care for my environment like He would?  Do I serve as He would?  Do I think like He does?  Do I love like He does?  

How I pray so! 

I love Him and want to emulate Him.  He is perfect love and perfect peace; a sure foundation.  My earthly father and I will spend a lifetime trying to be like Him. Not because it is achievable, for it isn’t, but because we love Him, we want to be like Him, and through Him our lives may be a blessing to others. 

My heart and my soul rejoice this morning, basking in the sacrificial love of my Heavenly Father.  May we never stop emulating Him and spreading His endless love far and wide. 

He is Risen. ✝️  Shalom ❤️