Routine looks a little different these days with a newborn in the house. For me, morning prayer has been taking place with my little one during her first morning feeding. I have a Book of Common Prayer beside the bed, and I find it easy to grab with one hand and flip to the psalm selection of the day. It's an honour to share the rich language of the psalms with Ivy. Yesterday's reading was Psalm 139.
There is a small pink person curled up in bed beside me. Her face is smooth with sleep, her hands tucked up to her chin. She is beginning to stir to the sounds of the morning and the brightness of the bedroom. I read the psalm for this morning, and the words "fearfully and wonderfully made" settle over with a hush. She is half hidden in the blankets, barely a speck in this big universe, and yet she rests in the counsels of God.
So delicately knit is she. The very handiwork of God, a perfect poem formed into warm flesh and kissed by the breath of God. His fragrance lingers on the curve of her mouth, and when I kiss her my own lips tingle with a knowledge too wonderful to attain.
Where does joy come from? From the heart that beats eternal, whose rhythm echoes in all He has made and stops us short to simply gaze at the face of a child. Look and wonder. See what He has done!
"Marvellous are thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well."