Last night, I held her so closely I could hardly tell where she stopped and I began.
Her little feet. Her button nose. Her soft, peach-fuzz hair.
All so delicately snuggled into my chest.
And I wondered as I closed my eyes…
Does she know how much I love her?
How every little giggle and smile has breathed color into the gray of my days?
How every sloppy wet kiss has thawed the sometimes winter of my heart?
How every quiet, midnight moment has calmed the storm of grief and illness?
Does she know that she is a miracle?
That she came from a broken body? That she defied the blasted odds? That she is incomparable love in the midst of incalculable loss?
Does she know she is hope, an absolute Jesus-breathed hope?
One that bends down every day? One that He knew had to come in this season? One that had to be so close that her mama could kiss and snuggle and cradle it?
Sweet Jesus, does she? Do we? Do I?
It was there in the quiet as her breath faded into mine, the tears fell freely on her soft, peach-fuzz hair.
Hope.
She was hope.
A hope that came in spite of tests and statistics and irreparable damage.
A hope that came even in a mama’s doubt.
A hope that came when no one thought it was possible.
Pure. Hope.
One that is covered with His fingerprints.
One that cannot be taken away.
One that will someday be made hers.
When the world beats against her heart. When she can’t bear to even look up for the pain it brings. When mountains crumble and life doesn't go as planned...
He will be there to whisper softly a truth that the world can never take away,
“Hope is real, love. You are living-proof.”