Welcome to Our Family

I held you today, humming as we rocked.

You are one month old, my little sweet pea, first granddaughter of mine.

As you drifted to sleep, I decided that this seemed the perfect time to tell you the story.

***

1:35 AM, the day of your birth:

I sat up, confused as to why I was in our guest room.

A text:

Pray, Mom. The pain is excruciating, and we are on our way to the hospital.

I flipped back the sheet, fully awake and remembering.

Your grandfather, Papa, was battling a virus and had sequestered himself to protect me from contagion.

I brushed my teeth and hair in record time and swirled on some makeup for good measure. Slipping my pillow and bags into the backseat, I placed the truck into reverse.

4:49 AM.

I fast walked from the parking garage to the hospital’s entrance.

The nurse led me to Room 1, where I found your mama sound asleep, your daddy dozing in the recliner by her side.

I heard your heartbeat: whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, a singing from the shadows.

Resisting the impulse to kiss your mother’s head, I retreated, tiptoeing backwards into the empty waiting area.

Sinking into a chair, I closed my eyes and drifted.

***

An hour passed, and then a family arrived, four adults who plunked themselves into the row of chairs behind me. They were sniping at each another—harsh, escalating whispers. After trying not to listen, I descended to the cafeteria.

After waiting in the short line, I handed the cafeteria attendant three dollars as I placed my order. She pressed a mound of change into my palm and smacked a large paper cup on the counter, with: Have a good day, Sugar, before adjusting her wilting hair net and welcoming the next customer.

Tucking the change in my zippered wallet, I smiled, trying to remember the last time a stranger (or anyone for that matter) had called me Sugar.

The coffee was hot and surprisingly good. I drizzled half-and-half into the dark roast and stirred, looking for a quiet corner to sit and think.

***

As I lowered my coffee onto a wobbly table, an ambulance passed by, sirens wailing.

In that moment, I realized that as my daughter prepared to push life into this world, others were breathing their last.

Being no sovereign, I turned to God, who is.

I prayed for everything: for the person in the ambulance, for the arguing family in the waiting room above, for your Papa feeling poorly at home, for your uncle sharing the gospel in a hostile region, for your uncles and aunts ministering here, stateside, and for God’s blessings upon our grandson.

I prayed for your Mama, laboring on the fourth floor, and your Daddy by her side. I prayed for you, my little sweet pea.

Another ambulance shrieked in the distance.

Dear granddaughter, this world is weeping, groaning.

Labor pains.

And this is the hard truth: weeping and groaning, contractions and labor, are the gateway to life.

Remember this when suffering comes. Cling to God, trust and obey him. He is always working and always good.

***

The day of your birth proved a trial of waiting. The cafeteria’s sandwich could not hold a candle to their coffee, so I settled for mixed nuts as I paced, returned texts and phone calls, and scribbled down a few thoughts.

I looped in and out of your Mama’s room, hovered by the fourth-floor windows, and observed people coming and going, as if this was an ordinary day.

***

You were born at dinnertime: stunning, healthy, and strong.

Thank you, God. Make her yours. Please, make her yours.

***

What do I remember most from that day?

The eternal flame roaring in my heart. The awareness that my motherly affections burn hottest. I could not rest until I knew your mama, my baby, was well.

And when that was settled, I turned my affections to you.

Beautiful you.

I remember our large family showing up, filling the small room.

My sons, grown men most tender. One swayed you naturally, sweetly, in the crook of his left arm. Another hummed a tender lullaby as you slept against his chest. As we all oohed and aahed, your aunts took turns welcoming you into the world, into our family, their smiles wide and deeply contagious. They examined your lips, your eyes, your nose and your hair, and presented your mother with happy offerings: flowers, snacks, baby clothes, and soft well wishes.

Finally, your Papa arrived. You have charmed and captured his heart like your mama did decades ago.

I stood back in the hospital room and inhaled the rich aroma of memory. Was it not yesterday our boys cradled their newborn sister? And was it not yesterday, when your Papa held your mother high for all the world to see?

Oh, time! How you have fooled me.

Those children I birthed and raised have now risen to govern families of their own.

This is God’s design, this circle of life, dear granddaughter. One generation pouring into the next and the next and perhaps the next. Reminding our children’s children how great God is.

The Lord has stitched and hemmed you within our family of imperfect, redeemed souls.

Welcome to the family, little one, this safe harbor where God is our Keeper, Christ is our Center, and the Spirit is our Guide.

Hear my prayers, as I rock you now.

I will love you, always, no matter what.

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One generation shall commend your works to another,
    and shall declare your mighty acts.

Psalm 145:4

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