early Sunday morning
your father took up tools
and pulled apart your crib,
piece after piece,
stacking them in a room waiting
empty, across the hall, to receive them.
then with those same tools
he put together for you
a new bed:
beautiful, sturdy, and safe.
you stretched out your body
and lifted up your eyes
to a rainbow canopy
and smiled,
grateful.

and
later that morning
your mother took bread
and pulled it apart,
piece after piece,
sharing them with people waiting
empty, around a wooden table, to receive them.
then with that same loaf
she offered you a taste of
a new covenant:
beautiful, trustworthy, and true.
you stretched out your hand
to the waiting meal
and took it,
bewildered.

i wonder at these milestones.
but you simply experience them,
as you nestle down,
sated,
into a new reality.



Also, for those of you who have access to the "private" group, there are a few photos of the big girl bed. Learn how to login here.