Her oldest brother tucked the blanket in himself. Her grandmother brought the tiny sleeper. Her great-great grandmother crocheted the blanket underneath, patterned it with nimble fingers for her mother... for me.
They fly above her crib, waiting to dance for her.
The Words of life dance too, a reminder of the Word that we pray will one day captivate her heart.
And His names: Jesus, Messiah, Comforter. These names hover over her resting place.
Reminders more for her parents than for the wee one who cannot yet read them.
Keep calm and count on. Keep counting the gifts. Keep reminding her that she is a precious gift. Keep pointing her back to the great Gift Giver.
And, yes, in everything, even the 2 a.m. feedings, give thanks. Give eucharisteo.
The purple blanket waits to keep her snug and warm, handcrafted by her great-grandmother to nestle her mother in its folds. Though this small child will never know the beautiful soul of her great-grandma, she will know her legacy and will be wrapped in the love passed on.
Jars from her great-grandmother's kitchen. May this small one grow be a woman of noble character who follows in the same godly footsteps.
Shelves from her mother's bedroom that once held the trinkets and tokens of dreams now realized... Now these wooden planks wait to hold those things most precious to her small, girlish heart.
And another reminder: yes, even her inmost being has been created by a Loving Father who knows her fully.
Little girl, your room is waiting. Waiting for you to enter the world. To take your first breath of air. To dance before your Maker. To give your earthly mother and father yet one more reason to return thanks.