I still remember the first time that I babysat him. I was about 15 years old. All the kids were in bed. I had finished drawing pictures for the six of them and hiding them in their rooms. The lights were low and all was quiet. I needed to wake him up. He needed medicine at night. So I went to the room he shared with his twin brother and pulled him up out of his crib. I gave him the medicine and held him in the rocking chair.The family had no TV, so I wasn't distracted by anything but him. I just held him. He was so used to being poked and prodded and cared for by many others, so he was content and not scared to be held by yet another person other than his mom. I marvelled at his arms and legs covered in downy hair. An effect of the medicine. I remember feeling so thankful and blessed that I could experience holding him. A true miracle. Putting my hand on his chest and feeling his heart beat. I actually cried, but I don't know if it was out of gratefulness for him or sadness for the other little girl baby who gave her heart to this amazing boy.I prayed for the other family. I'm still emotional as I write this, not realising how much he affected me until June of this year. The phrase from Luke 2:19 speaks to me now. "But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." That moment was one of the treasures that I have stored in my heart. For now, this is where I will end. The holiness of that night. The feeling of his weight, his amazing life, in my arms. The miracle of him.
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