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.

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.



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.
-Anna
{girl with blog}
Friend, so glad to share the rythm of my own holy ordinary with you across the miles. These twos are a terrible and holy wonder all at once. Hugs to you and Sam!
Beautiful!
The most ordinary days are the most holy, I think. Praying for you as this leg of the journey winds down!