One dog perched on my feet, the other uses my leg as a scratching post.
The kids are just beyond the threshold of my hearing.
I can make out the sounds of their voices, but no words.
But they are laughing and that makes me smile.
The baby’s asleep and I suppose I could (should?) use this time constructively.
But I find myself staring blankly towards the kids – looking, but seeing nothing at all.
I can’t seem to break the trance and so I close my eyes.
Although it is a beautiful day, my imagination is even more vivid.
I lie down on the grass and let the sun dance on my skin.
I take in a big, deep breath and feel myself breathe.
It is still a miracle to me that the human body does this –
this in and out and in and out –
without me even knowing.
It’s incredible, you know?
We are incredible.
How we breathe and blink and digest both food and information.
We are nothing short of miraculous.
Even when we are broken, we are still a miracle.
That thought overwhelms me.
So complex that it’s simple.
And so simple that it’s complex.
I don’t hesitate to tell my children how special they are.
I encourage them to embrace what makes them unique
And to celebrate what makes them alive.
But I forget to tell myself these same things.
I need to hear that, even if it’s just in my own head.
(And you do, too.)
You are an incredible miracle.
I am an incredible miracle.
We are all fearfully and wonderfully made.
Thanks be to God .