Five weeks equals countless hours in the rocker.
Heart against heart beating as we rock. Memorizing dark curls, chocolate skin, eyelashes - thick and lush, pink perfect lips. Remembering how long I had waited for these moments and how I had wondered when and if they would ever come. And now that they are here I am finding that I must fight for them and fight off
impatience
selfishness
hurriedness
exhaustion.
Because the truth is that while I rock the world does not stop. There is always something else that I need to do, I want to do, or I feel like I should be doing. It only takes a moment for the selfishness to creep in.
It is then that I have to breathe in slowly the grace of the moment given, and remember that this is what I dreamed of, prayed for, and begged of God. And remember the mommies that would give their very breath to have the moment I am wishing to hurry. I remember the orphans and their empty, wounded eyes that begged for a mommy to rock them to sleep.
And with every rock back and forth, back and forth with his body curled into mine I must die to self again - rock, again - rock, again.
And to die in those moments is to truly live and to see the truth once more - this life is just a vapor - and for the moment there is nothing more important than rocking my baby who waited fifteen months for this very thing I can give him - my arms, my time, my love.
And honestly there is nowhere else I'd rather be.
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