When you write something on the internet, you might as well assume that it will be out there, somewhere, forever. With that in mind, I want to write something great on the occasion of the birth of my first child, which, if everything goes according to plan, will happen sometime later today. If this, this little sleepy, nervous grab at meaning, is going to be out there forever, odds are good that my son will see it sometime. See it and read it, trying to glean some insight into his own history, and what was going through his mom’s and dad’s heads while they waited on him.
Well, Graham, it’s this: my heart is so full right now I can hardly bear it.
It’s so odd how the meaningful and meaningless things of life sit right next to each other all the time. The TV is on, and the sportscaster is mumbling through the little speaker about the scores and statistics that stop mattering the moment they fall out of his mouth. Intermingled with that mumbling, I hear the busy whupa, whupa, whupa of Graham’s tiny heart, read through the monitor strapped to my sleeping wife’s belly.
I’m concerned about work. Concerned about getting fat. Concerned about what kind of husband and father I will be. And amid all that, God blesses me with such profound displays of His love, I can’t believe I can see them while I’m still part of this world.
Rachel, uncomplaining, endured taking her first-ever IV (three tries to find a vein). She’ll endure much more, and then look back on it as a small sacrifice. Laid against the blessing, the trouble will seem so small.
All the parts of your life that are not this are the price you pay to get to this. Seeing the meaningful so clearly juxtaposed with the rest is a great blessing. And a rare one. I hope I recognize it so easily every time I get the chance. My heart is so full I can hardly bear it.