My son was born 18 hours ago. He sleeps in the hospital bassinet a few feet away as I steal these moments to write a note, flagging to the world a momentous day in the life of our family. There is so much I'd like to say, and more that I'd like to journal. For now, there just isn't time. Maybe someday there will be time.
I can't remember whether it was Wordsworth or Coleridge who said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions recollected in tranquility. If that is true, it helps explain how Sara Groves' song "This Peace" makes sense as a song about feeling grateful and serene about everything that has come to pass and yet not really having the time to write a song about it. Right now this song is running through my head, an expression of what the poet in me is feeling, and a promise of good things to come.
It's a whisper in my ear, it's a shiver up my spine.
It's the gratitude I feel for all that's arrived.
It's the mystery appeal that's been gratned me tonight;
This peace.
No time to paint a picture,
No time to write it down,
Just time enough to breathe it in, and linger.
Welcome, baby boy. I adore you. You can have my time. Here is a picture for the world.
1 comment:
Such an eloquent post. He is beautiful. Congratulations :)
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