of hearts and hands...

Sometimes in the afternoon when I lay you down, and brush the hair from your forehead, I am flooded with emotions. I take your tiny hands into mine and you usually say to me, "I nee somefing?" so I ask you, "What do you need?" and your soft, sweet little voice answers back, "Momma pray?" and my heart swells big and soft inside my chest. And I do. I pray earnestly each and every time for God to reveal his love for you. That you would know that He loves you more than... well, there aren't even enough words for that kind of love. I pray that you would know that nothing you could ever do could make Him love you less. And I pray that you would learn this truth from a young age.

Your heart is so very big in your little body, Birdy. When I yawn, you ask, "Momma, you sweepy?" and the answer is always yes, darling. So you pat me gently and say "Iss okay, Momma. Close your eyes..." You tell me "I wike you hair," as you stroke it softly. You run across the room just to give your little brother a kiss on his blonde baby head. You grab my hands and swing around with complete trust that I will not let you fall. And I won't. And I never will, if I can help it. But the truth is, despite your lovely heart and my good intentions, I can only protect you from so much in this world.

And that is what overwhelms me when I have you there in my arms just before you drift off to sleep. That as beautiful and innocent as you are, my momma hands can only hold you for so long. They can keep you from so few things in this ugly world that we have ruined. My heart aches when I think of the day when someone will hurt you or make you feel less than the joyful spirit that you are. And my momma heart knows that I have to let go and allow it to happen. And I picture myself always chasing after you- your blonde locks bouncing several feet ahead of me- and  reaching out for those same small hands that I hold each time I lay you down to sleep. I get the feeling that you will want to let go far before I am ready.  It would be a disservice to you to keep you from such lessons, but it still pains me to think of it...

So I cling to the promises of our Father: that you are His. That His are the hands that truly hold you.  And I cling to your small, sticky, perfect little toddler hands just a little too long... and I pray for sweet dreams for us both...