There were a few crumbs of yogurt treat on the seat of the high chair after Susan and Daniel left just over a week ago after spending five days with us. The baby carrier is still strapped into the back seat of the car. The stroller is parked against the wall in the basement. A few receipts from eating out are scattered about my usual places of putting things when I don’t feel really committed to neatness and organization.

There are also several new pictures stored on the hard drive: pictures of the croquet game, of Daniel with his mother and with his Grandpa and Grandma and Daniel in a variety of poses and activities.

I still remember the smell of him fresh from his bath and ready for bed. Skin and hair soft and clean, something dreamlike about that. Something sweet and wonderful and rooted in the best of what it is to be human. The feel of his face against my forehead and of his forehead against my chest, the squeeze of his fingers wrapped around my thumb, trying to chew on the end.

I suspect that God has similar memories of every aspect of our “growing up.” I believe that every detail and instance of our change into his likeness and nature is precious and sacred. I doubt that we have any notion at all of how many times we have been lifted up in his arms, how often he has tenderly closed his eyes and drawn us close, delighting in the closeness and aching for the day when we will see him as he is. And know as we are known.

H. Arnett
8/2/10