It should come as no surprise to any of my friends and family that I catch moonbeams, store them in jars, and then look at them nostalgically. I’ve always been quite melancholy this way – celebrating with glee small joys and instantly recognizing with weeping the fragility of life the next moment.

These last weeks of pregnancy have been a beautiful and bittersweet time as I celebrate the arrival of one new soul into the world as we know it. I remember grieving before Soren was born that my time with Jeff would be different. I was mourning the loss of “two of us”. This time is no different as I’m mourning the loss of “the three of us”. Yes, I know, I know, life is about to afford us a beautiful blessing, but this, my friends, is the plight of a melancholy soul. Every new chapter means closing the last one.

Last night we enjoyed a candlelit dinner at home to celebrate “the three of us”. I cooked while Jeff and Soren put the ornaments on the tree and my heart was very happy. We sang Christmas songs and watched the flakes flutter out the window. That sounds too good to be true – actually, it kinda was. Jeff and I sang Christmas carols while Soren yelled at us to be “all done” and screamed “more Miley Cyrus”. Apparently, she doesn’t find “Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming” as musically captivating as “Party in the USA”. Still, it was a night at home, just the 3 of us and my heart was full.

In Genesis, the bible speaks of childbirth. (“… I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children.” ~ Genesis 3:16) Before I was a mom, I always figured that this passage was referring to a physical pain. I understand that pain having had a natural and wonderful drug-free birth with Soren. But, watching Soren develop in the last couple of years shows me that this passage is much more.

Every time Soren enters a new stage, birthed, if you will, into a new season, she leaves the old behind. It is not so much the pain of the childbirth as it is the letting go of the opposite that accompanies it. Even now as I’m overjoyed at the thought of delivering our precious miracle in a matter of days, I feel grief at the thought of my first separation from the baby – the first of many times of letting go, I’m sure. It comes as no surprise to me that Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit when her baby leapt in her womb. To feel a baby kick within is indescribable and unforgettable. I’ve spoken with women in their 80’s who have not forgotten the feeling or joy.

I’ve felt a special connection to Mary this season as I recognize the merging of something from heaven and something from earth as a part of me. Yes, I realize I’m not carrying the Messiah, but the fact that God would orchestrate human life and use me as a vessel is mind-boggling, humbling, and extraordinarily other-worldly.

It is with joy that I continue this blog to celebrate the merging of heaven and earth in daily moments. Thank you for walking alongside us in these times.