Little one, my Beloved,
my dear newborn infant,
I hold you in my arms.
You can't form words for me;
you hardly know that I am.
But I love you.
There is nothing you have to do
to please me. I am already pleased.
You don't need to be “good,”
in fact you often aren't.
You cry in my arms.
You are entirely self-absorbed.
You cause me great trials.
You spit up on me.
You eat and breathe and poop,
and that is enough for you.
And it is enough for me.
I love you.
When you are cranky I feel for you,
though I can't always soothe you.
When you fuss I do not scold,
I just keep holding you.
It is most beautiful when you are at peace,
surrendered, in my arms.
You are working so hard, becoming,
growing, becoming aware.
It will happen all your life,
mostly within, without your knowing,
this new life.
And I will continue to birth you,
invite you to die and be raised
You are beautiful.
Accomplishing nothing, you are beautiful.
I can't wait to see your gifts unfold.
I can't possess you or control your future,
but I will go though it with you.
I can't promise good fortune,
but I promise you love.
In fact, I will suffer with you,
I will die for you.
I will be with you, for you are mine, and I love you.
You can't comprehend my love for you,
or the vast blessing I surround you with.
You never will.
You will pray to me, not knowing
that I hold you in my arms.
You will always be my delight,
and I will always love you
simply because I am your Father,
This is my Covenant. Forever.