Sometimes, All It Takes Is a Foot
My sister and her husband came over tonight to watch “Away We Go” with me. (Have you seen it yet? You should. It’s fantastic.) Matt settled comfortably into my armchair, while Johanna and I curled up in my bed, as is our normal routine (last weekend, it involved carrot cake gelato…nom nom nom). She is in her 9th month of pregnancy and her growing belly is always a roomy addition to our snuggle sessions.
Having so far been a very involved aunt, I love to lay next to her tummy and talk to my niece. Last time, it involved reading her “Goodnight Moon” in French. Tonight, I began poking Johanna’s bump, attempting to identify Addison’s tiny little limbs. I pressed my fingers down, and could feel something hard. Feeling around a little more, sort of like someone reading Braille, I realized it was a foot I was feeling.
I don’t even know how to describe the realization of that moment; in that moment, there was nothing else but me and this tiny little foot belonging to this tiny little life being lived already by this tiny little girl. And nothing seemed like it could ever be as important as that.
I live alone now, and what started as an experiment has turned into something good. I enjoy living by myself and am not usually uncomfortable and lonely amongst the silence. I keep busy enough that I’m not a hermit, but I take enough time to let it just be me so that I don’t lose my mind. But in this second, where it was just me and this teeny baby’s foot, I realized how enormously selfish I am at times. Sometimes I get lost inside my little web of control and preferences and neat stacks of mail and well-ordered books. Sometimes I forget that there are six billion lives outside of my door that mean every bit as much to God as mine does. Sometimes it is easier not to care because caring feels so huge and difficult and painful.
But the thing is this: I want to have His heart overcome mine, in the realest, truest, most deep-set way possible.
Maybe sometimes, maybe all it takes is a tiny foot.