Quiet

Time has slowed down lately.

Boxes are being unpacked slowly, old treasures rediscovered.

Most of them can wait, though.  I’m in no rush.

This babe turned seven this week.  Seven.

Seven years ago, on a bleak, February day, she came into the world.  Robed in sorrow and pain, a babe of light was in my arms.

She has taken me on a seven-year journey.  She doesn’t know it, but she has changed everything.  I know I write this every year, but each one of her birthdays is like a celebration of life.  She is a gift from Heaven, a mercy, a miracle.  Everyone who meets her is made glad.  She is pure.

Today I watched her.

She sat for hours, very still, in the snow, near her bird feeder, birdseed in hand, just waiting.

She watched the little mountain chickadees dance around her.  She called to them, and they did not fear her.

She kept her hand outstretched, breathlessly waiting.  Finally, after hours, it happened.  A little bird flitted from a branch to her small hand, ate a seed, and then flew away.  She told me that it only lasted a moment, but it felt like it lasted forever.

Tonight, I feel so blessed.  Blessed and so grateful.  Grateful for a quiet life, and the peace in my heart (largely because of this child) that life is precious and not to be wasted on rushing.  Goodnight, friends.

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