It was delicious, this dream that I was gratefully drowning in. I held in my arms a beautiful little boy. Incredibly precious. Supernaturally real. I watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, his tiny, little, wheezy puffs of breath on my cheek. This princely baby with the long, thick lashes laying against his creamy pink skin was the answer to all of my fervent prayers and wishes, knowing and feeling and aching that our family, though big, was not complete. I knew he was meant to be and meant for us. I knew we had been waiting for him, this familiar little person who was so, so real and darling. And when they asked me his name, I said it reverently, confidently, without thought: Benjamin.
I was wrenched from that aching dream, the physical pang stinging and tingling as I awoke to empty arms, my heart was full of what I just knew down to the very depths of my soul was real… that little chubby cherub was mine. And my heart answered yes. And my soul answered yes. And the Spirit answered yes. And my brain? My brain hoped that this was a yes.
I tumbled out of bed and fell to my knees, and I prayed with all the power I knew how, and I asked God… is this true? Will this sweet whisper of a soul be a part of me, of us? And I felt yes. And I prayed even more still, barely daring to believe, will it be soon? And I felt yes. The tears spilled down my cheeks and down onto my bed, and I prayed and begged for this feeling of confirmation to continue. Over and over I felt yes, yes, yes. And after I had finally poured all of my energy and heart out into that early morning prayer, with wet cheeks and sheets, I got up on weak legs and sore knees, wrapped in a soft warm blanket of love and hope, assured that this delicious, miraculous promise would be, of this I had no doubt.
Part II here: http://jessaleelala.com/?p=2085