An Ordinary Sunrise

The sun came up at 5:28 a.m. this morning.

 

I know this because I was awake, taking care of a tiny mammal who eats, sleeps and expels waste with incredible finesse. I may have mentioned him before?

 

In case you’re wondering, yes, I have already been sprayed by the waterfall pee pee effect everyone took so much joy in telling me about.

 

It was downright impressive, the distance that little soaker can cover without the help of wind speed or true directional intent! In my shock, I just stood immobile, watching that arc of urine go, go, go…

 

The truth of the matter is the boy came out of the womb as a sprinkler. He nailed all the nurses waiting to take him to the baby warmer while voicing his displeasure at removal mightily.

 

The nurses voiced their displeasure at the shower as well, but so long as he didn’t spray the doctor in the eye, I was ok with him imitating a water gun.

 

Fire on, cowboy!

 

The incident provided comedic relief during the surgery. Well, that and the doctor discussing garden manure. The whole c-section is a surreal experience because, while you are completely numb from the arms down during the surgery, you can still feel the pressure of the baby being removed, smell the burn of cauterised veins, and hear the squishy sound of your insides being sorted.

 

There is little pride and high reliance on others for a woman who has a c-section. Did you know they vacuumed the amniotic fluid out of me with a hose? And literally removed my uterus from my body to stitch it before tucking it safely back into my abdominal cavity?

 

Yeah. No pride left for the mama. So, if my son wants to pee a little to provide a diversion, so be it. I’ll accept a giggle where I find it.

 

I’ve watched the sun rise each day this week. Everyone else in the house is asleep, so it’s a sweet, quiet time for the two of us, baby and mom. I look out the window, watch the world gently color from gray to vibrant greens, browns and blues, and thank God we made it through another night.

 

It’s a saturated thanksgiving, a tired one, coming from a place marked by the reality of hourly wake ups for food, diaper changes, and medication yet no less authentic. It comes from an abundance of gratefulness seeping out of my pores, my being, as I consider how this season of life is blessed.

 

There are little pockets of the everyday I dare not touch with my sarcasm, rents in the fabric of living where I see past the ordinary, the funny, the bizarre – and into the sacred.

 

{take off your shoes, this is holy ground}

 

Watching the sun rise, caring for a newborn just days removed from birth… with the completion of these ordinary activities I am eyeball to eyeball with the miraculous.

 

I read an author who suggested we have our concept of heaven all mixed up. Somehow or another we have accepted heaven as a place where we all get robes and wings, wander around clouds, and play harps.

 

For the average person who associates harp-playing with homeschooling and denim, singing with boredom, or wings with hot sauce and chickens, this is not a compelling view of how to spend eternity!

 

Nope, this author said heaven is much more simple – and more complex  – than we accept.

 

{take off your shoes, this is holy ground}

 

When we experience moments that take our breath away with beauty; the times we feel interconnectedness with the world and realize we are a significant, yet tiny, part of the greater whole of life; when our eyes fill with tears for no reason except that we are moved…  

 

that… that is a glimpse into real heaven.

 

{take off your shoes, this is holy ground}

 

This morning at 5:28 a.m., after a restless and sleepless night, I watched the sun rise and looked in my child’s blue eyes. They crossed a little and he grimaced, preparing to dirty another diaper…

 

…and I glimpsed heaven.  It was magnificent.