THE HOURS OF IN BETWEEN

I have come back from a magical place drenched in the smells of heaven. And my whole heart aches.

_____________________ 

For the past three-hundred-and-eight-four hours I immersed myself in the bringing of a baby, or at least doing everything I know possible to pave the way. Archie would say it’s his brother we welcome. I would tell you it’s my new grandson, Grayson James.

Home again I am finding it difficult to remember what I did with my hours before the holding and feeding, before the diaper changes and attending to his mama’s needs. And I catch myself asking the aspiring woman in me what more essential work there is than sitting for outstretched minutes with this child wrapped within my arms.

Here’s the curious thing of it—the contents of both mind and minutes have been rearranged by eight tiny pounds.

In truth, I needed this reset, a reason to walk away from all the chatter and noise.

I am softer because of it. And more hopeful than I can recall in recent days.

Despite the chaos of the outside world, in holding him, I feel the safety of a womb.

I fixate on his little face, watch those little brows furrow, and his lips quivering up and down. Voluntary? Perhaps. But these are early hours of in between when God whispers of what his life will be while he slumbers.

And when I hold him, I’m suspended in the space dividing this place and the next.

 …this place and the next. How often have you felt a craving for something you couldn’t name?

Is this what happens to the soul when we wander too far from where we came?

Babies. This baby. Grayson James.

I see myself [maybe even find myself a little] in those endlessly deep brown eyes.

And when I gaze into them, the rest of everything falls away.

This new generation of Krafts brings new hope that God has something wondrous up his sleeve.

What a glorious sense of new-found purpose, no matter what happens to me.

The question becomes, are we [every one of us] longing for a place we came from, a place unremembered but ingrained?

I wrote this line in a piece entitled, Homesick. Maybe you remember some of what was said. There are truths there that still speak. Now, more than ever, they are words you need to read.

Can I inspire you, just a little, to put down the cares of today, and hold tightly to something that brings a little hope and a healthy dose of peace? You are not only entitled to it, but also obliged by your soul to care for the part of you that will endure long after you leave.

NOTES:

Eight pounds, ten ounces of hope descending on the earth.

At least that’s what babies are to me.

Being too much in the world brings a kind of cynicism that makes it difficult to find relief.

The best remedy I can deliver is to tell you to simply walk away.

Find some distraction, even if it feels a little trite.

Because when you’re wrapped up in it, honestly you can’t get anything right.

Clear your head. Hold a baby.

Cleanse your soul. Embrace someone you love.

That skin-to-skin, heart connection is and always has been the cure.

 If there’s anything these last three years have taught me, it’s that our biggest mistake is believing we have more time to reconcile the life we’re living with the one we always imagined we’d have—from Homesick in the Sanctuary Living Journal.

ABOUT THE IMAGE: I did my best to convey the irresistible charm of Grayson James and the “filled with wonder” way with which he will be raised.

SONG TO ACCOMPANY WORDS: Breathtaker; by SYML from the EP, How I Got Home