This was written yesterday, Saturday, July 8. Due to wifi glitches, I’m posting it now.
Yesterday we went to Bayfield, Wisconsin and you rode the ferry to Madeline Island. It wasn’t the first time, but perhaps your first appreciated trip. You stood on the bottom deck, holding onto the grate between you and the water. You gazed lovingly at the expanse of Lake Superior, sometimes singing to it. You feared nothing.
Later, at the beach on the island, even though clouds blocked the sun, you stomped right into the icy waters of that massive lake, mermaid dress, multi-colored capri leggings and all. You were shivering, but you didn’t care. I quickly removed your terrycloth jacket, certain you’d want it dry for later. You repeatedly splashed in the very waves that were making you so cold. I looked up at your dad and Gram, waiting out the storm under the canopy of a picnic shelter, and shouted: “this is my kid!”
Today, we went outside briefly so I could get our suitcase from the garage. Immediately you found the snow sled that had caught yesterday’s rain and was warmed by today’s sunshine. Shoes, dress and all, you plunged in. Once again, I hung up your mermaid dress and bright leggings to dry, and we went inside.
Last October, Boo Boo, you were baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I sprinkled your tiny forehead with blessed water from the font and you received it, almost unflinchingly.
You never were awarded a baptism certificate. Some of that is on me, I guess. It was a challenging season in the life of our church. However, I have hope that it’s not too late to fix you with one.
But, dear second-born, nave no doubt. Every time I watch you making up your own play, splashing in whatever water you find – dog dish, rain puddle, giant lake – I delight in the treasure you are, to me and to the God who made you.
And, certificate or not, no one can take that from you.