[Edited to note: The number of duplicates I have of this very same photo (still on my phone a year and a half later, mind you) is almost embarrassing.]
One of the greatest joys I experienced after giving birth to our son that no one adequately prepared me for was spending time with him “skin to skin.”
Sure, our birthing classes had taught us that the practice helps with bonding, nursing, etc. (I’m telling ya, I was skin to skin with that boy almost every time we were together for the four days of his life, and we were still terrible at nursing, haha!)
In all seriousness, there is something inexplicably significant and serene about that time spent together in the first hours and days of their existence on this side of life. Knowing that his ear on my chest somehow brought him comfort and peace. It was in those precious moments that I realized I was made for this. I’d always wanted to be a mom, but holding him as he snuggled as close as he could get alerted me just how fully I was called to love this tiny human.
Our skin to skin time continued for months after we left the hospital (It’s still crazy to me they let us leave in the first place. We were beyond under-qualified for such swift progression as parents.). As time went on, I began to think of it less as time spent “skin to skin” as much as time spent “heart to heart.”
My “whole heart” laid on top of my bodily heart, and before my eyes, both hearts grew and grew. My whole heart in size, and my bodily heart in its capacity to love.
I’ve often wondered since those early days—when we're rocking at night and he chooses to sit up with his ear to my chest—if my heart still makes a difference for him as his very being does for me.
I wonder if it still brings him comfort.
I wonder if it still affords him peace.
I wonder if it helps him feel less alone.
I wonder if he hears how my very bodily heart beats solely for him.
These ponderings have led me time and again to wonder how different life would be if adults listened to one another’s hearts in a similar way.
If we cared about the beating of another’s heart the way babies care about the rhythmic beats that make up their parents’ existence, how much more meaningful and connected and egalitarian might life be?
It’s a matter of heart.
A heart matter, to be exact.
Our hearts are our only hope to better ourselves and better creation.
Our hearts are the only fighting chance we have to enable change that leads to meaning, connection, and equality for our brothers and sisters, for all people.
My bodily heart tells me that it’s past time for me to live in such a way that my whole heart has the hope of of growing up in a world different from the one I read and hear about on a daily basis.
Not just for my whole heart. But for the whole heart of every parent represented by every demographic in the world.
It’s my responsibility.
Indeed, it is my privilege as a follower of Christ to be able to embody and promote love toward all beings as Christ is in the business of doing.
That means caring about all beings as though they are my very own “whole heart.”
It’s a matter of the heart.
A heart matter.
And it’s one that I’m praying my heart is open enough and bold enough to address head on any and every time it presents itself in 2019.
Won’t you join me? It’s so much less lonely when we’re not alone in doing what God has created and called and commissioned us all to do. I know my heart is better with yours. Maybe yours is better with mine, too.
Thanks for reading, friends.
Deep Peace,
MK
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