Sunday Morning

It is 8 a.m., and as usual I have already been up a couple hours. Sarah will wake up soon, but for now she is still sleeping, exhausted from building that little body. The chickens are doing whetever it is chickens do out in the yard; a big, smelly dog snores worshipfully at my feet; the sun is bright; there is frost on the lawn and ice on the pond.

I like to get up early. Once the critters are fed, they tend to quiet down, leaving me a few moments to sip my tea and do my thinking in peace. Just for a moment every morning--usually as I'm headed out to feed los pollos estupidos--the first rays of sun light up the peaks while the valley is still dark. I have seen it dozens of times, but it never fails to catch my eye. No matter how rushed I may be, it never fails to make me stop and whisper thanks to the God who made the world so beautiful.

And it never occurs to me to grab the camera until it's over. Just as well. Some sights just don't translate to film.

Tiny Things, Enormous Things

According to the latest census data, there are 783,051 Wilsons in the United States. If all goes as planned, around the end of next June there will be 783,052.





(pause to let that sink in just a bit)







We had a bit of a medical scare yesterday. The doctor had reason to believe something was seriously wrong, and had Sarah go in for some emergency tests. Everything was just fine, and although it was a tough afternoon, it turned out to be a blessing: they took an ultrasound, several months before they normally would, and we got to see what is happening in there. The little critter looks sort of like a little oblong light gray blob right now, smaller than a jellybean. But here’s the thing: on the edge of that blob, there was a tiny little white fluttering movement. The beating of a heart.

I’ve seen a lot of amazing things in my life, but that little tiny beating heart about takes the cake. How can something so commonplace be so miraculous? I know this happens thousands of times everyday, and it has happened to some of you numerous times. It’s just that it has never happened to us; it has never happened to this child.

783,052? No. Just one. Just this tiny one...

Is this supposed to be sad...

...or comforting?