Friday, May 16, 2003
Heather:
Every night, on his way to bed himself, my dad would come in each of us kids' rooms and give us a good-night kiss. I rarely woke for this, but I know it happened. Even when my sister moved her room downstairs he would shuffle through the darkened basement for that gesture of parental affection.
I've tried to perpetuate that tradition. Our two children share the other bedroom in our undersized house--a fact that makes it a little easier. After I've brushed my teeth and changed into pajamas, I pad in as quietly as I can. It's tough to get to him in his crib, so as often as not I just kiss my fingers and then touch him. A fair share of the time too I sit down and just listen to them breathe. Unless you are a parent, you can't understand.
Moments like that, the 10' by 10' bedroom seems a church to me. Their quiet sleeping sounds are like the whispers of angels. I know there's a crib and toddler bed instead of a tabernacle; the wallhangings are cartoonish instead of classical. The only "pew" is a glider rocker and matching ottoman. The altar is replaced by a combination changing table/dresser. Instead of a censer, we have diaper pails. But the sense of peace, the evidence of God's work on earth, is more apparent at those moments than any other time. I can feel their guardian angels resting with them and welcoming me on my nocturnal visit.
It takes my breath away to think God has trusted us with these two treasures.
Every night, on his way to bed himself, my dad would come in each of us kids' rooms and give us a good-night kiss. I rarely woke for this, but I know it happened. Even when my sister moved her room downstairs he would shuffle through the darkened basement for that gesture of parental affection.
I've tried to perpetuate that tradition. Our two children share the other bedroom in our undersized house--a fact that makes it a little easier. After I've brushed my teeth and changed into pajamas, I pad in as quietly as I can. It's tough to get to him in his crib, so as often as not I just kiss my fingers and then touch him. A fair share of the time too I sit down and just listen to them breathe. Unless you are a parent, you can't understand.
Moments like that, the 10' by 10' bedroom seems a church to me. Their quiet sleeping sounds are like the whispers of angels. I know there's a crib and toddler bed instead of a tabernacle; the wallhangings are cartoonish instead of classical. The only "pew" is a glider rocker and matching ottoman. The altar is replaced by a combination changing table/dresser. Instead of a censer, we have diaper pails. But the sense of peace, the evidence of God's work on earth, is more apparent at those moments than any other time. I can feel their guardian angels resting with them and welcoming me on my nocturnal visit.
It takes my breath away to think God has trusted us with these two treasures.
