Last week. . . celebration!
Life-long dream realized.
I’ve said it was like birthing.
And, truly, it has been.
Complete with already-family having to share mom
with new arrival, its preparations, its needs.
It’s bittersweet, celebrating this infant dream.
Taking already-mine kids in arms,
kissing sweaty-sweet heads,
whispering “not right now, dear child,”
“we’ll read and ride and play more soon,”
“I love you, but new baby needs mom now.”
Then today, sitting new-mom weary
glad for a dear friend,
I read this:
and hear a heavenly Father say,
“Rest, child. This dream baby is Mine.
Be with the ones who need you back now.
I’ve got this.”
For everything there is a season,
a time for every activity under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to plant and a time to harvest.
A time to kill and a time to heal.
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to cry and a time to laugh.
A time to grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
A time to search and a time to quit searching.
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear and a time to mend.
A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate.
A time for war and a time for peace.
– Ecclesiastes 3:1-8