I knew what was in the envelope before I opened it.
I didn't think I needed to steel myself or brace myself for this sweetness.
But I did.
'Cause y'all, I cried.
He is no more or less precious than any baby in our family.
And as I think on all my nieces and nephews and my own children, they are each a miracle in their own way.
I remember how long my other sister waited for a baby. And then how incubators cradled. I remember hard dangerous labors and illnesses that threatened and troubles that pained.
I remember tears cried over the marvelous knittings of God.
But this baby's mama still seems like a baby to me at times. Born when I was nearly grown. And how can a grown successful woman still seem like a baby? More mature than me in so many ways. But still . . .
God counted every tear that fell and every bargain made and every plea from a desperate heart.
And now in His own time, in His own way, we count another miracle.
He makes number fifteen.
And we give glory to God in the highest.