I am continually awed and amazed by this little girl. I’m beginning to believe that when we are commanded in scripture to be as a little child, the reference must certainly be one to infants, to these tiny people who come to earth without any preconceived notions, who don’t yet have the ability to deceive, to lie, to lash out in anger. They don’t even have reason to suppose that others have these abilities. If Annabelle says she is hungry it isn’t because she wants another cookie; it’s because she’s truly hungry. She trusts that when she cries in the middle of the night, I will be there. She has no reason to believe otherwise – she trusts implicitly.
It’s funny to realize that I once believed as she did, before experience and age took its toll, before I knew the feeling of heartbreak or betrayal. In many ways I wish I were more like baby Belle, more willing to trust in others, believe others. I wish my needs were my wants, like hers, that life could be as simple as she sees it. In her I see perfection. Not the type of perfection found in beauty or good manners (although in my unbiased opinion she is both beautiful and extremely well mannered), but the perfection that accompanies these little people as they come to earth, fresh from heaven’s grasp, not capable of being anything but perfect.
During the night, when all is quiet, and the only thing I have to think about, to focus on, is my sweet daughter’s face, her big eyes staring up at me, something in me melts a bit. It’s almost an ache, an ache in knowing that she won’t be this small forever, that the world will have its way. But I hope she knows that no matter what, I’ll always hear her cry. And I’ll always be there.