|The Birth of John the Baptist by Tintoretto (Wikimedia Commons)|
While my husband was checking out at Sam’s this afternoon, I took a seat in the snack area nearby. And it was there that it captured me….a tiny, delicately sculpted foot with dimples and miniature toes….a perfect work of art. I always marvel at that fresh beauty of a baby’s little fingers and toes, appearing almost too perfect to be real…like a masterpiece of purest wax.
This tiny, kicking foot was kissed and cuddled by an adorable little girl of about four, no doubt sister to whom I later saw was a baby boy of a few months, peacefully nursing from his bottle. And, I didn’t cry. Those of you who know my story might have expected that.
But not this time. As I watched the husband and father of this trio gather his family together, I was lost in thought over the wondrous power they possessed.
Do they ever think about such things….these life- bearers entrusted with clothing in flesh the very children of God? I know that we, the infertile, the barren, probe this mystery in breathless and unending fascination, turning it round and round, in wondrous contemplation.
But what of us? Are we forgotten, somehow cursed by God, disgraced and covered in shame as once believed not so long ago…and surprisingly, somewhat in our own day.
Continue reading at Patricia's blog I Want to See God.
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