Let the children come to me, Jesus said.
Toddlers staggered around clutching sippy cups; pre-schoolers
danced around with excitement; babies gurgled or fussed or slept. Church
gathered for the dedication of one of our precious grandchildren.
I sat in the second row, husband on one side of me, youngest
son on the other. In front of me sat the other two sons, daughters-in-law and
grandchildren. We sang a new chorus, new to me anyway, expressing a sentiment
that although I look like I’m surrounded by troubles, God is surrounding me.
There was a physical gap where Mhairi would have loved to be sitting, but I
know that in spirit she filled that gap. So there I sat, on Mothering Sunday,
surrounded by my tribe, surrounded by God. Gathered to pray a special blessing
on the youngest grandson. Gathered to celebrate life, love, and the Lord.
Watching my boys, the brothers, cuddling each other’s
children, playing with them, rocking them to sleep: I needed no gifts or cards
or sentiments (though I did receive them! – thank you!).
Let the children come to me. And they did. Profoundly
grateful.
