One Whole Year
She stands in direct contrast to the darkness we’ve experienced, the dizzying dismantling of everything we knew and trusted, and every feeling of hopelessness.
“But sweet will be the flower.”
Rosemary.
She is so much of what this year is not.
She stands in direct contrast to the darkness we’ve experienced, the dizzying dismantling of everything we knew and trusted, and every feeling of hopelessness.
She has made me smile on days I swore I couldn’t, and brought us both to laugher in the midst of some debilitating instances of conflict. All that she is and all that she does often humbles me, as I navigate my own feelings of purposelessness and aimlessness. I know, looking into her eyes, that life is miraculous. Our being made and developing and growing and changing is nothing short of a miracle. She is an (almost) walking miracle.
So are you.
So am I.
She embodies glory, the magnificence of the slowing down (although hardly moving slowly these days). There is no rush, there is no expectation – from herself or others. Do you know what I mean when I say she is, in a word, glorious?
It’s this glory that overcomes me in a moment, where life can feel so meaningless, motionless, mundane – then there’s Rosie. She is life, she is love, all bound up in a little fast-moving, never-stopping, drooley, smiley girl. There have been several times I’ve been reminded of a song by Sara Groves:
Upstairs, a child is sleeping
What a light in our strain and stress
I remember resounding with Colony House’s song Looking For Some Light at the beginning of this year, the year we never dreamed of.
When the world is weighing on your shoulders
When the sorrow’s heavy on your soul
Carry on and sing it like a soldier
Saying, “Come on! Come on!
We’re gonna make it home!”
‘Cause everybody’s looking for some light
You know everybody’s looking for some light
And I know that we’ve found some light in our baby girl. She contradicts the shadows, she lightens our days. She warms my heart when its beat has long frozen over. She opens me up to the magic in the mundane, the hope in being stuck at home.
On August 17, 2019, the Giver of all good gifts gave us Rosemary. In all the ways I’ve despaired this year, convinced that life is and only ever will be heavy, He knew the light He’d let in with her. Like a curtain drawn back after a long, dark night, He shines in our daughter. The mercies we’re promised as new every morning are embodied in our baby.
And we’re grateful for this whole year, even though our hearts have ached and we’ve been weighed down by many things. We thank our Maker for making our sweet, brave, strong, resilient, adaptable, goofy, moving, intuitive, observant, discerning girl. Like Sleeping At Last says, what a privilege to love you. It’s a gift. It’s a grace.
The grace our Father knew we needed this year.