When I hold my grandson in my arms and give him a bottle … life stands still … I am only there for him.
We have a “ritual” — well, I have a ritual. I feed him in his room, while I sit in the rocking chair my father gave my mother when she was pregnant with me, and I am all his. No phone. No computer. No TV. Just Andrew and me. Eyeballs to eyeballs.
I look deep into his eyes and I can honestly say I have not fed him once where tears of deep emotion did not form. I am so grateful for the gift of this simple activity. And I am sad that his Opa is not here to experience this joy.
As he eats, I let him know I am here for him. He is always safe in my presence. I beam trust, love and the gift of presence to him.
Feeding him is not a task to be completed.
It is a gift. It is an honor. It is a holy act. It is what I call Sacred Mundanity. —Honoring the sacredness of the small, daily, seemingly irrelevant tasks we all need to do each day....