Her (yes, her) name is Giovanni. At seven months, baby fat is already a memory for her, and she is light in my arms. After a minor round of fussing – the cause of me taking her up in my arms and walking around in the first place – I have located and replaced her pacifier, which she has been diligently working on for some time now. She peers at the world through dark brown eyes set deep in the thin face framed by black curly hair. In an almost instantaneous change, I feel her little weight shift against me. Instead of holding herself up to better view the world, she has all but completely melted. I look down awkwardly, for she is almost too close for me to even see her face. Her eyelids are fluttering and she makes no obvious attempt to fight the exhaustion that seems to have overtaken her. I quickly change the positioning of my arms to better support her back, before doing so would disturb slumber. After walking around for another minute or two, I look down to see her fast asleep in my arms.
Wandering from the other two caretakers and children, I find a rocking chair in the corner of the church nursery and gently lower Giovanni into my cradled right arm, hoping the switch will not wake her. She effortlessly slides across my lap, tiny socked feet stretching out below my left arm, her left arm circling up and resting on my shoulder just above her head. And I watch her in awe. I can’t remember the last time I held a sleeping baby. There is something shocking about it, really, because you feel the gravity of responsibility for this little being. They trust you so wholly and fully – you can feel it in how their weight seems to shift from being under their control to complete obedience to yours. Oh, of course they cannot be fully cognizant of this transfer of power, so in one sense there is no room for pride in being the one who got them to sleep. But then you look into the peaceful sleeping face and feel the even breathing and heartbeat harmonizing with your own, think of the myriad possibilities for this child’s life, and can’t help but marvel at how blessed your path is to have intersected with hers at this very moment.
I smile down at her, and the thought behind it is one that comes unbidden to my mind: This beats writing legislation any day.
I softly hum the alternate melody of Jesus Loves Me as I rock. Giovanni breathes a contented sigh in her sleep, and I can’t help but do the same.
2 comments:
so you'll come help out every week - right?
It is a refreshing change of pace and focus, sort of a mid-week therapy session.
...that's how God sees us when we trust Him
:-)
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