The day is edged in gold, and I’m noticing that it’s hard to photograph the gold edging from a moving car, and it’s hard to convince myself that stopping is worthwhile when I’m within an hour of being home.


I’m noticing a six-week-old baby’s tiny mouth and tinier finger nails, her way of wriggling on my shoulder, of staring fixedly at her world.

I’m noticing the way a new daddy’s voice changes when he talks to his daughter.

I’m noticing the smell of old woodwork in an old church building, the squeakiness of the floor, palpable sense of history pervading.

I’m noticing how God promises origins for His people, as well as a future:

“And of Zion it shall be said, 
‘This one and that one were born in her’;
For the Most High himself will establish her.
The Lord records as he registers the peoples,
‘This one was born there.'”

And for this girl, who was born far away, who was not born here, who is not from here, this promise is beautiful.

©2014 by Stacy Nott

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