Yesterday was a contemplative day…one of soft, gray being. That evening I sat and read Nancy Tillman’s book, On the Night You Were Born, with Henry. The fly leaf reads
For you are fearfully and wonderfully made…
He asks me what that means.
“You are magnificent,” I tell him.
“God chose every thing about you to be you. He chose every last little bit of you.”
“Even my hair?” he asks me.
“Even your hair.”
and your eyes
and your FRECKLES!
And your nose
and your ears.
You are perfect. You are just how God wanted you to be.”
On the night you were born,
the moon smiled with such wonder
that the stars peeked in to see you
and the night wind whispered,
“Life will never be the same.”
Because there had never been anyone like you…
ever in the world.
“Did you know that, Henry? Did you know there has never been anyone, ever, like you?”
“Is that true?”
“It’s true. And there never will be anyone like you, ever again.”
“Welllll….Ella is kind of like me because of her hair.”
“Yes. But she’s a girl.”
For never before in story or rhyme
(not even once upon a time)
has the world ever known a you, my friend,
and it never will, not ever again…
And my voice shook, just ever so slightly, as I finished
Heaven blew every trumpet
and played every horn
on the wonderful, marvelous
night you were born.
And there was a sparkle in his eyes that was not there before, I’m sure of it. And right at that moment, he knew how much he was loved.