Mette Mary was blessed earlier this month. Dear little soul. Her two grandpas were able to stand in the circle while Mike gave her the blessing. (I intended to make Mike put back on his suit – later in the day – when I realized we had no decent pictures of him with Mette, but it never happened.)
I love the beauty of . . . presenting an infant before the Lord. It feels humbling to come before her eternal Heavenly Father – as her imperfect earthly parents – to give her a mortal name for her journey here.
And something about it all made me feel extra emotional about my own parents – the ones who brought me into mortality and presented me – with all their own hopes and fears and unknowns – before the Lord. There is something cyclical about it that makes it all so . . . powerful? Profound? Overwhelming? I don’t know. I was once like my little Mette. And my parents were me. But now? They’ve done it. They’ve lead me along just as they were meant to, . . . while I still have such a ways to go in doing the same for my little ones.
I feel I will always be just behind them: seeing them a distance ahead on the trail; eager to make it along the paths they’ve already walked; anxious to catch up to them -- to do what they’ve done and know what they’ve learned. I love them.