He’s one and cutting molars. He’s also pulling clean laundry straight out of the dryer and bread pans out of the cupboard and clothes pins are cascading and spinning across the floor. But when those voices sing out of that one little blue speaker, he’s still enough to sleep. I look at him for the seven hundredth time this morning, cause that’s what Mama’s with toddlers do, and I see it again. Him, bobbing his head up and down like he was mechanically engineered to do it. Cause when that voice sings of sleeping in heavenly peace, the boy nods in the knowing.
This is a boy whose first sleep was the womb of this woman, but at only 23 weeks and 2 days gestation, her womb would give up and his sleep was abruptly moved to an isolate where he would spend the next four months. So when he nods like that? When he moves his head to music that raises notice to the baby Jesus? I feel the burn in my throat at my own knowing.
I know I am the woman of Shunem. The one whose faith and emotions ran the dusty road to fall at her Saviors feet and beg Him to come. Immediately, if not sooner. Come and breath breathe into this baby. The surprise baby that soon became the prayed over baby.
And follow-ups have been many and long and he’s got more miles under him than the ranger running our seventy-four acres. He’s been taking his tiny testimony with its depth of mercy and waving good-bye to one. after. another. All these medical professionals teary-eyed at his teetering happy dance and I notice the subtlety in his left-handed index finger pointing straight up at each of them. And could it be? His unspoken pointer proving heavenly lights can shine even in tiny boys?