Lent: Day Thirty-One

I've done a lot of baby holding lately. Now anyone who knows me will know that's strange. And anyone who knows me fairly well will know it's even stranger when I admit I've really, really enjoyed it. To top the strangeness off, I'm even quite good at it.

Honest.

I've learned how to pack a baby on one hip and eat with my free hand...while standing and swaying even. I've learned how to swaddle a fussing baby, cradle it, and rock it to sleep. I have tucked a baby's unruly arms and legs into a onesie. I've even strapped a baby into a car seat.

Granted, I've had the best babies in the world on which to practice (my brother and sister-in-law's twin 5-month-old nieces). But I'm still quite amazed at the change.

You see, when I was 8, 11, 14, 17, and all the ages in between in which a girl is supposed to be drawn to babies like a bear to a honeycomb, I wasn't. I avoided them at all costs. And when one was plopped into my unsuspecting arms, I held it like a man holds a woman's purse. And it usually started crying. Frankly, they terrified me.

Even at 20, 24, and 27, I held babies only out of obligation, though my best friend's kids began to change my heart.

But now, at 28, something has happened. I hold those little bundles and actually want to kiss them, and rock them, and soothe them, and care for them. Perhaps my proverbial clock is ticking after all.

Anyway, I'm not real sure where I'm headed with this post. I guess I just want to say that there is something breathtaking and alarming and beautiful about a little human being needing you.

It makes you want to be a better person, one worthy of the charge to protect that little life.

And I feel like I've become more aware of the preciousness of life through holding something whose lifespan I can mark on one calendar. It's quite remarkable, really. And what a picture of God holding each and every one of his children!