Yesterday was my sweet Boy’s baptismal birthday! We had a super typical day that was really anything but:

I was up from 3-5:30 (pregnancy insomnia is a thing, yo), so when he woke at 7:30 I pulled him into my bed and let him dink around on the iPad. We had donut holes for breakfast (after I took one bite of cereal and thought I’d throw up). He watched a lot of PBS while I cranked out some work, then we played with puzzles and he went down for a nap.We never changed out of our jammies. I did a little more work, then I went down for a nap too.

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Husby was home when the Boy woke up and we all headed to church together, where the Boy played with a favorite high school girl and Husby and I led worship. We stopped for milkshakes and french fries on the way home. We ate around our creaky thrifted dining table, lit the Boy’s baptismal candle, sang a little blessing song and prayed over him.

Then it was clean jammies all around, family snuggles in mommy’s bed, and tucking in the crib. Yesterday was all kinds of ordinary, with so much holy woven in around it all. That’s our real life everyday, God all up in our regular, and every once in a while we see some of it.

We’re trying our best to teach him how special he is, how God loves him so, how He welcomes our conversation and our lives, and that loving mercy and kindness and justice and speaking love to others matters. This sweetie 2-year old runs the halls of his church, he whispers prayers with us, he closes his eyes and bows his head (at times), prefers VeggieTales to all other shows, and reminds us to pray before meals. He is soft and tender and wild, all in one, and the other day after a little scare, I walked in the door and he said, ‘Mommygirl baby ok?’ with genuine concern on his sweet little face. He also throws a heckuva tantrum, begs to play with my phone, doesn’t sleep well, and does all kinds of irritating toddler-y things.

So those holy moments? All entwined with the ordinary? They’re reminiscent of a night long ago, in a drafty barn where The Holy laid in straw. But because of that I get to witness those moments around my creaky table, in bedtime rituals, in the wiggly babe in my belly and the toddler I’m chasing, and over it all are holy fingerprints.

That’s what I want to teach my son.

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