Presence

When my babies are still tiny, fresh with the newness of life, still sweet with tenderness, they spend the nighttime hours in a small bassinet beside my bed. It's easier that way, having them close. Easier for feedings, and easier for my hand to rest on their chests, feeling the reassuring swell, up and down, as they breathe.

In those late, but actually early hours, dark with night, but still bright with love, I sit and nurse my baby. Sometimes, I marvel. I curl tiny fingers around my own. I trace tiny eyebrows. I smile at tiny baby noises that melt my heart. Other times, I doze uncomfortably, willing the little bundle of difficult to finish feeding so I can just get some sleep already, and mutter about the ridiculousness of needing to eat every two and a half hours in the first place...

My mood? Not very consistent at 2 AM. But there is one constant, a presence I know I can always rely on. Whenever I nurse, sitting cross legged on the bed, my husband reaches over and puts his hand on the small of my back. I am ill equipped to feed the baby, his hand says, but I'm here. I'm with you. I know that you're up, that it isn't always easy.

Many nights, that simple gesture of kindness tethers me to reality. Sometimes, it just helps to know there is someone there. I'm grateful that I know my husband well enough to recognize that gesture for what it is. It's the little things, I think, that often make the biggest difference. But do we always recognize them? How often do we fail to see?

It's been on my mind a lot lately - the need to see the little things. Not just in my relationship with  my husband, but in my relationship with God.

Do I recognize His presence?

Am I failing to see?

I have found that if I really look for it, I can see His presence in every single aspect of my life. His hand is there, on my back, all the time - leading, guiding, encouraging. But, oh! It's so easy to grumble, to see the flaws, the difficulties, the misery of our own plight. We are alone, after all. These things that we are doing have to be done by someone, and it us that must do the job, and it is only us, and no one really understands, or will ever understand...

Except, wait. There it is. If I close my eyes, I can feel it. A light touch, a kind word, a supportive hand. He is there. He is everywhere. Always has been, and always will be. His presence is constant.

It is up to me to simply see.