Little One, can a moment live forever? Is there a space, beyond time, where this moment will always be?
You, in your winter sleeper with the pastel fawns, reaching for me, not quite asleep, squeaking sounds of contentment as you nurse. Your fingers wave until they find mine, and then the connection is complete. Your breathing slows. Your eyelashes flutter.
We are in the room with the blue floral wallpaper and painted blue floor. On the bed, a colourful crocheted blanket that you love to push your fingers into. Outside, a bluster of snow changing to freezing rain. I see the drops on the glass through the lace curtains.
Now you sleep. Your own crib is waiting for you, with the pale green gingham sheet, and the muslin blanket with the black sheep. But I am not ready for it.
I am still imprinting this moment in the folds of my memory, hoping it will not be lost. I want to come back and live in it again, to feel your warmth and weight just as they are now. To simply be me here with you.
Perhaps time is a robe that God wears, and perhaps it has folds enough to hide our treasures. Perhaps on the Day that is a thousand years, he will wrap us in it and we will know again this sweetness.
Perhaps all our love lives forever with Him, each of our moments embroidering some new blossom on the hem of His garment.
Perhaps one day we will be surrounded by blue flowers in a room with a gold painted floor, and all the love of this moment will connect us again.
These moments pass so quickly for we time-bound creatures. But there is something unseen that is weaving us together, and when you let go of my hand and settle into bed, that unseen remains eternal.
S. D. G.