Noah

My long-awaited, much prayed-for and thoroughly-watched nephew, Noah, came in a couple of weeks ago by way of my sister. Thankfully, there was no flood that day, although my sister’s water did break way ahead of her contractions. But all was well and I met my nephew when he was only less than an hour old. I was looking at him so intently when the nurse brought him up to the window that a stranger had to tell me that I should probably take his picture.

There is something so unfathomably beautiful about looking at newborns. First of all, they’re so tiny. It makes me wonder how a little bundle like that will eventually turn into the tall, lanky teenagers I teach. And they smell so wonderful. Although, I haven’t quite figured out what the smell is. And his grip is so strong that I can barely uncurl his fist. But the best part about looking and holding and kissing a newborn is that it reminds me of how infinitely tender God is.

So tender and thoughtful that He formed every single blood vessel, smoothened every centimeter of skin, allowed every strand of hair and every piece of toenail to grow under His protective gaze in the secret of my sister’s ever expanding belly. There was no detail too small that He did not take care of. And it is quite humbling that He did this for every one of us, that He still continues to do it in every moment of our existence.

I look at my nephew and I wonder at the boy he will grow up to be and the man he will become. What perfect plans God must have for him. What opportunities of service and heroism and saintliness must be in store for this little bawling baby. This child, this as yet unaware child, was so loved by God that he was created out of nothing, destined to spend eternity with his Creator. If all of us remembered this about ourselves, the world would shake off its depression and its sense of worthlessness. For we are all of us precious. Newborns and old-borns alike.

And yet, here I am—complaining about having to spend Saturdays working and about the rising cost of gasoline. But my little nephew sleeps through. He is content that when he cries he will be fed, changed, burped, or simply cuddled. He cannot yet understand the language of words but he must know that he is loved. He cannot yet sing praises and thanksgiving but already he is beginning to practice complete and utter self-abandonment to a higher power. Ah, my little nephew is but little but he is teaching his teacher-aunt.

And one of these days, in case he forgets about the beautiful lessons of his existence (as most human beings eventually do), I will have to remind him. For any child named Noah must never forget that by his name he is intrinsically tied to a history of suffering and salvation. He will have the faith to build a ship even in a desert. He will look at a rainbow and remember that God always keeps his promises. He will learn that God sees the heart of every man. He will know within his heart that many waters will not quench love nor will the floods drown it.

At least, this is what I wish for him. It is what I will pray for. For this child has been prayed for from the moment I knew he existed. And even when I was still hoping for the possibility of his existence.