A Letter to a Baby Girl Born on Good Friday

A Letter to a Baby Girl Born on Good Friday

**This is dedicated to baby Julia, born today to our sweet friends, Angela and Adam. **

Dear one,

We have waited for you, hoped for you.

Your mama, daddy, grandparents, cousins, family, and friends can’t wait to see you and say that because you are here, this is surely a good day

We woke up this morning glad that we can mark this day as the one that brought more joy into the world. We know how we have done Good Friday in the past remembering the darkness, remembering the words that we have chiseled down to neat phrases we can handle:

I thirst, My God, It is finished.

But it isn’t. Not for you, beautiful girl. It is just beginning.

And there we are. On this day, when we all look to the cross, toward its rugged vulnerability we also look at your sweet face, tiny and tender.

On this day, when so many mothers weep for children around the world, when fathers fear the broken systems that threaten their boys and girls, we hear your tiny cry. And it is a sound that stirs us to forever circle you in peace.

We listen fiercely to your whimpers and your wails and we promise, like all the mothers and fathers that everything is gonna be okay. Shh, hush, dear one. It’s all going to be okay.

The hush proclaimed by so many faithful folks tonight is about just that, sweet girl. All the wails and hurts and whimpers of brokeness that we see in all the cracks in our hearts and our days and our cities are met with one mighty Hush. Dear one, every little thing is being made new.

We’ll sing that over you.

If you hear us sing tonight, it’s okay to wonder at the songs.

Sorrow and love flow mingled down. Like the tears on our cheeks that splash on your tiny hands, that flow means that something is happening in our hearts.

Love so amazing, so divine. Demands my soul, my life, my all.

That sounds about right.  Love like this changes everything.

That’s the good about today. Love changes everything, turns everything around. Your tiny face demands it all. Your arrival into this world is a page turned, a new song ringing out, a tiny tinkling bell telling the world that there is wonder in our midst. Again. And unlike any other. We can’t wait to see the wonder that you bring.  Your smiles, your songs, your own little flare. With tiny little spots of wonder we remember that the world is not all done, after all. There is new life. The after all is that wondrous love is here. With us. New life is just waiting to be brought home, nurtured and given the chance to sing.

We are glad you are here.

Today is Good Friday indeed.

 

 

 

You might also enjoy these posts


 

Too much for the Methodists

Today’s Wednesday Prayer is brought to you by one of my favorites – favorite writer, favorite truth teller, favorite singer. She just happens to be my favorite sister, too. She led in worship on All Saints Day last week, and wrote this gorgeous prayer. I’m told that her instructions were, “Yes, you can be yourself. Put in enough Ashley that it’s you, but not so much that you scare the Methodists.”  Now, I know Methodists don’t scare easily, and neither does God. I’m thankful that Ashley put her whole self in the prayer. Methodists – and Baptists – would do well to realize what a gift they have in counting Ashley among their own. A General Thanksgiving for All Saints Day by Ashley Robinson Blessed Comforter, we thank you for the lives of the poets, the prophets, and the profane; the well-behaved and the rabble-rousers, the peacemakers, the music makers, the noisemakers, the caramel cake makers and the mess makers; the list keepers and the delightfully scattered, and even the unnamed, undocumented, and unmentionable people who have gone before us. We thank you for the great cloud of witnesses that shades us with comfort as we continue to walk each other home. We thank you for the saints still among us who awaken us to the possibility of your kindom here on earth. We thank you for the borrowed breath that sustains us from dust to dust. We find hope that you hear every damning why, every shattered Hallelujah, every tear-ragged thank you as a groaning to be filled with your life-giving spirit that welcomes us into community with the...

Saving Your Life

I peeked out my upstairs, bedroom window on November 1, about 8:00 am, and looked out into our backyard. Amidst the sunlight peering through fall leaves and the dew glistening on the grass, I saw . . . A tiny storm trooper running full speed through the yard. My little four-year old neighbor. Our dog barking her head off alerted me to this visitor outside. I couldn’t quite get my early-morning brain to pull thoughts together and figure out why he was there, and where his mom was. We had celebrated Halloween with friends and their littles the night before, so I wondered: Did he sleep in his costume last night? (Makes total sense) Did we forget someone when we all went to bed last night? Then, I found my phone and saw this text:   After dying laughing, I searched my son’s room and found the mask under a pile of toys and clothes. Obviously. I ran outside and delivered the mask to the little storm trooper and his super-mom in the mini-van. That one is only topped by the text from earlier in the week that made me DIE laughing. I can’t. Cannot. The image of my 100 percent stylish, Type A, take-on-the-world friend hoisting herself onto a mannequin to strip him down made me sit right down and laugh. Which always makes my day brighter. There was also this honest lament made me howl: I mean. Tiny Sister Friend KNOWS the truth about her favorite clothes. She won’t get to wear them again. Probably not ever. Who among us has not felt bummed about a favorite...

I Brave

Deep waters, flames, and fears have come before. They will probably come again. But the narrative I want my child to have, and the narrative I hope to voice continually for myself and for my family is this: Fear doesn’t win. We are strong. And just in case we’re not brave enough, we will be brave for each other.

1 Comment

  1. You just gave me chills and made me tear up at work.
    Sorrow and love, indeed.

    Reply

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Share This