She is a little girl. She doesn't weigh enough to get the rocker to move so she looks up to me for help. Her baby is swaddled tight and she holds it close and pats the back like she has seen other mommies do. Her own clothes are not a whole lot bigger than the ones covering her little one. She knows what a momma does.
A momma rocks.
The woman has raised her kids. Sitting crisscross in the floor, she pulls the pillow hard against her chest as if she was trying to stop a bleeding heart. Putting pressure on the hurt and the fear. She buries her face muffling her sobs as she prays for her child who is wounded. And she rocks. That's what a momma does.
The young lady has birthed two babies. She is waiting for the nurse to bring her boy to hold for the first time. When he was put into her arms the grief seemed to well up from her toes as she held this little one already breathing heaven. I felt like an intruder in her grief, yet I had to stay so she would have something of her little one to hold when she left the hospital. I watched as she looked at his hands and feet and touched his cheeks. I heard as she whispered to him her sorrow. Then she began to rock that precious bundle as moans came from deep within her. Rocking and moaning. Moaning and rocking. Nothing was going to bring life back into his little eyes and the only way she could get comfort was to rock. That's what a momma does.
A momma rocks.
Three times in seven days I watched this thing that seems to be instilled in us. All three times it was a precious thing. Two times it was heartbreaking but it didn't stop being precious.
God tells us in Hosea that He allures us to the wilderness and speaks tenderly to us. He draws us to His heart and comforts us. He gives us hope. Isaiah 40:11 says that He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.
Crawl right on up and and be gently held in His bosom. He comforts so we can comfort. He rocks so we can rock.
