“When anxiety was
great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.”—Psalm 94:19
It’s one of my favorite Christmas gifts—a handmade (with the
help of technology) 2013 “Addison” calendar. On the cover my 10 month-old
granddaughter holds a 2013 sign, her big blue eyes wide with wonder.
Flipping each page of the calendar sporting a picture of
Addie taken in the same month of 2012, I recall those precious moments—her
debut in February; her first Easter in March; Mother’s Day when my whole family
gathered for a photo on the church steps. And the summer months when I took
care of Addie while her parents worked.
I remember cradling Addie in the crook of my arm, rocking in
the old porch rocker, both of us lulled by the sounds of the morning, birds
chirping, bullfrogs croaking, and a tractor chugging in the distance. Addie’s curious blue eyes brightened, as she
babbled in response. I remember trail
walks, Addie strapped snug in her stroller, mesmerized by bright green foliage
and yellow butterflies, soothed by the rhythm of the carriage. I remember car
rides that without fail calmed Addie to sleep. I came to know Addie’s cries,
signaling food, sleep, or attention. I knew what would make her smile and
gurgle and what would comfort her. Except for one day.
