This drawing is astonishing. The mother's eyes express the anticipation she feels with this sweet child. Her husband's closed ones convey the exquisite tenderness welling up inside him. His lips are gentle, setting a kiss firm enough to carry his devotion yet gentle enough to avoid waking the newborn. His ears are intricately detailed, as if they are up to the job of listening to his daughter. When she cries. When she laughs. When she whispers secret fears in the dark. His stubby chin suggests that the last few mornings he was busy with matters more pressing than a razor and cream. 

 

Then there is the infant. She is asleep. But in that slumber she is safe. Held. Where she needs to be. 

 

Yet there are experiences that even this drawing cannot convey. It makes no sound. Produces no warmth. As convincing as the shadows are, it lacks a third dimension. It all plays out on flat paper. 

 

Heavenly life invites us into another realm, even more rich with love than this one. Which is a notion not worth mentioning to these parents, whose hearts are already full to overflowing.

 

"More affection than this moment? No thanks. I have all I can bear."

 

Yet it seems that our capacity for love actually increases, as untenable as that sounds. And in stepping into that broader dimension we will know with certainty that we are safe. Held. Where we need to be. 

 

 

 

“We know not what we shall be; but we may be sure we shall be more, not less, than we were on earth. Our natural experiences (sensory, emotional, imaginative) are only like the drawing, like penciled lines on flat paper. If they vanish in the risen life, they will vanish only as pencil lines vanish from the real landscape, not as a candle flame that is put out but as a candle flame which becomes invisible because someone has pulled up the blind, thrown open the shutters, and let in the blaze of the risen sun."

  -C.S. Lewis