I loved my babies. That probably comes as no surprise. Though in some ways it surprised me. Before children, I was not one to rush over to the newborn in a crowd and gush over her tiny yawns. 

 

It is slippery business to quantify things like love, and joy. I remember spilling over with delight when our firstborn was laid in my arms. The midwife's name was Celeste, and she had brought heaven to our home. 

 

Then just shy of two years later a different midwife ushered in our daughter. The floodgates of my heart opened up even wider. But what I was not expecting, was how it would feel to watch the two little ones together. 

 

There is a video circulating on the internet about children meeting their baby sister or brother for the first time. It is a guaranteed few minutes of bliss to see it. It brought back the wave of emotion that washed over me when I saw my own children, big or small, falling in love with their younger sibling. It was more than my heart could contain, so it splashed across the floor. I thought adoring my baby was the pinnacle of joy. But I was wrong. Witnessing my two year old cradling his sister was even better. 

 

This phenomenon probably played into the size of our family, though we did eventually stop the parade at nine. But what it taught me need not end. Whether or not you yourself have one child, or five, or none, you are part of the equation. 

 

Being God's child means He loves you. To an unfathomable degree. But I believe that He is still more ecstatic when He beholds you cherishing someone more vulnerable.