Late at night, I lay alongside your mother and run my fingers along her distended abdomen – a vast smooth orb of life within life, a miracle. You, Sophia, this is you… tucked within the darkness of your mother`s hearth, growing and forming… listening, hiccupping, dreaming, stretching out your tiny arms within a confinement that has become increasingly restrictive.
With my fingers spread wide, I hold my palm against your mother`s stomach… feeling your vibrant tumult. My heart leaps as I think I feel the form of a tiny hand pass against mine, moments later I feel what seems like a knee or an elbow. Eventually you become calm and still, so I hold my hand against your back… I holding you, you within your mother – father and mother and child.
I think about you all the time – my imagination playfully running wild with the vastness of unknown potentiality… a blonde, straight-haired, dark-eyed girl; a dark brown, curly-headed, blue-eyed girl; ad infinitum and ad absurdum. I really don`t care how it all comes out, I just cannot wait to hold your wriggling self in my arms and hear your first wail of living breath.
It has been a long and vigorous forty weeks. Both your mother and I eagerly anticipate your coming – and, judging by the force of your struggles against your tightening incubation, you are also quite ready to emerge into the outside world. Your mother has bore you so well o`er these several months, never frazzled nor complaining but mild of temperament and robust in all of her endeavors – a testament to the wondrous Grace of our LORD, as well as to her own hearty pilgrim soul.
Now we behold this final turn in the journey of your coming, and it shall certainly be more sooner than later… I pray that the LORD will continue to bless my beloved with abundant health, continuing to keep her stout-hearted bearing throughout the pains of labor – and that He would guide my daughter safely into the world.