The 15th was a rather chaotic day on the home front. One of those days where any mother might want to pack up and leave for the day or week just to collect their thoughts. You know. But there was sweet redemption, yet again. In the midst of trying to decide what might be for supper and how we might get in a swim to restore our sanity, the FedEx man met my visiting sister, Lis at the door and placed a heavy box in her hands.
“The book is here, the book is here!” (Imagine the squealing and shouting) As if the family was putting into motion a fire plan, we all looked out the window and saw the sun was setting, quickly as it does here. A mad dash of grabbing the diaper bag and leaping into Clyde (yes, we name our vehicles) we rushed to the ocean. Of course, the long-awaited box must be opened at the water. This was determined long ago.
And it was. We cheered and cried. The boys ran into water, Lis took photos and Ben collected a bag of sand and some shells to remember the night. If I were to apply personification to that moment and to that book it would be like the moment I first looked at and held my babies. After months of anticipation and wondering, the labor of faith so intense and now come to this comulation. All was well. The toes and fingers were counted, baby was ohhed and ahhed over and held and held. But the baby has already grown and now after much preparation and prayer we push it off into the world. And with wonder that God would be so good to allow the dream a girl has had all her life to come to fruition, we release the work yet again and pray that these little loaves and fish would be multiplied.