he doesn’t know i’m watching him. little feet slipping fuzzy-socked leaping high on floor-boards, arms stretched wide as if to die on unseen cross only he’s very much alive, chuckling at the colours in the room, at the sounds and smells and sights only baby-eyes can see and i stop doing mother things to feel the grace in this undone moment.
it’s in these ‘uns’ that God moves. in the unfelt forgiveness, in the unspoken ‘i love you’s', in the unheard draws of breath between sobs–these are the moments when God is. when humanity stops being, and the divine starts. in the gasp for grace.
thinking back now to when husband’s face crumpled as my words dragged sharp through his skin and he fell apart, man become boy, because of my speaking… thinking back to all the times i’ve done when i should have un-done; times when i’ve spoken when i should have stayed silent, times when i’ve heard something that wasn’t meant for my ears and it’s in these un’s that we find humility… in the un-woven tapestries of purple that will one day make royal…
i desire this grace and find it when chubby arms wrap tight my neck and slobbery mouth kisses wet my cheek and baby coos in sweet boy voice needing nothing but me.
grace in the un-doing. in the un-being. in the un-aware.
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