There was a cold wet wind tonight. Biting. I wrapped him in a quilt, thick with flannel and a grandmother’s love. His hat was wool and his coat too, but still I held him tight against my body before walking out into that biting night air. I remember how one year ago he was protected and warm inside of me. And how I was grateful for that. I was sure.
As we stepped outside tonight the wind blew damp and strong against us.
I held him tight and used my hands to shield his face. He wiggled and pushed against me, trying to break free. Suddenly my hands that wanted to protect were a nuisance. I used my arms to redirect his face away from the direction of the wind. Again, he fought me. If I wanted him to face West, he was intent on looking Eastward.
“Doesn’t he know I am trying to protect him?” I wondered, exasperated.
“Why is his fighting me?”
“Why doesn’t he understand?”
“Doesn’t he realize that I am placing my body in front of his to bear the burden for him?”
And suddenly it was no longer about a mother and her son. It was about a Father and a daughter. A Father who used a cold December wind to speak to a daughter who is entirely unworthy.
A daughter who questions and pushes back, who fights and veers East when He says clearly, “Eden is to the West, my beloved.”
“Don’t you see that my body has suffered this for you?”
I kiss my baby’s sweet cheek, damp and cold from his obstinance and I wonder what winds I could have been spared?
With eyes Westward,