We dance in his bedroom, our nightly waltz. His eyelids droop with the sweet dew of sleep and mine too. I kiss his miniature hands and slender fingers as they caress my face, back and forth, back and forth.
As I hold him I think that he feels much heavier. Though he is still the smallest of his peers, he seems so big to me now, here, in this moment. He used to be nothing more than a peapod to cuddle in my arms, but tonight his head hangs over one end and legs dangle forever down the other.
And I sway, back and forth, back and forth.
He stirs, and I shush, and he sleeps. His one hand rests on my collarbone, with fingers encircling 'round my neck, his other is tucked gently in between his chest and mine. The baby boy breathes heavy and his sleep is sound. He folds like a rag doll, so quietly into his blankets.
As I lay him down, I believe there is nothing this wonderful and yet so heartwrenching. That there is nothing so beautiful and so sad.
I let go. And he doesn't see me leave.
He sleeps and I lie awake in bed, thinking of him. Listening for him. Loving him.
And the Spirit brings to my mind a picture of the Father, "He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD is thy keeper:.." Ps 121:3-5a
Our loving Father keeps us while we sleep. So I can rest, knowing the Hand that holds my heart when it is breaking is holding my baby boy too. I can slumber, because He does not.
And though I do not know His plans for his future, I do know that they are better than mine. And though it seems to be flying so fast, I know He controls it all. And I toss and turn some. One or two more peeps into his room.
All is still and calm.
And I return to bed. And I rest, because the Father is watching over us.