Some people like to take the mystery out of things. They analyze and quantify and theorize and this is great for some things, but not for others.

Some things are meant to be just plain wonderful. Like babies.

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Is there anything more incredibly delicious than a ripe momma on the last legs of her pregnancy? Waiting, anticipating, consumed already with love for the tiny thing she hasn’t yet seen. Wondering what he will look like. Will he have daddy’s eyes or grandma’s nose? Will she be whole and healthy and will she nurse okay and sleep okay and grow up okay?

I remember my first look at my first boy, the first time I saw him outside me, and honestly, there are no words. I can promise you I wasn’t thinking about anything except how absolutely amazing he was. How perfect and beautiful and pink and even as my husband was severing the cord between my son and me, my heart was fusing a new and stronger bond.

Every baby should be born into the arms of loving parents, and have lots to eat and warm clothes to wear and to be cared for with wisdom and tenderness. Every baby should have this but they don’t.

I have a little boy living under my roof. A sweet young thing not born to me, and this year he can’t go home to his mom’s for Christmas. For the first time in his life, he won’t be waking up in her home on Christmas morning or finding his presents under her tree. This is hard. It’s hard for him and it’s hard for me and I’m more than sure it’s hard for her.

It’s an awkward triangle we form, two moms and a boy, and it leaves us all pointy angles at times. Trying to make something work in a way it wasn’t meant to is never easy.

An awkward triangle, imperfect and perhaps hopeless but for grace.

This is the beauty of Advent in my heart today. Amazing grace, carried to earth in baby form, that smooths sharp angles and sweetens the bitter taste of disappointment. Grace that makes beauty of our messes.

Because Lord knows I make enough of them.

Praying grace covers all of us today, dear friends.

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