Last night, I dreamt of you… a wee little girl by the name of Andalusia.

With your father`s sad dark eyes and your mother`s wide-drawn mouth–your hair, flaxen white and straight around the edges of your fair rosy-cheeked face–you trail after your older sisters in sing-song laughter and little-girl murmurings, as I sit beside the shore listening to the slow-rolling Tide and watch stars fall from a Dusky sky.

In my dream, I knew I named you Andalusia (Latin, meaning: “to walk in slowness”), for you were the child given to me in a season of rest. Even so, I call you Lucy-in-the-Sky-with-Diamonds and hold you, arms outstretched, over my head in the dying twilight. You smile down at me, unafraid and trusting.

Another ornament, another star, another arrow, another daughter… can the LORD be so gracious, as to gift me with many children?

Wonders never cease.


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