Meadow had a hard night. Two teeth came in and they stormed the gates with a battering ram and siege towers. Both Jill and I were up with her at various points during the night. By 6:40am she had endured all she could alone and needed support. I comforted her as best I could at that time of day, but then I had to get ready for work. By the time I had showered and dressed she felt very heatbroken and alone. Where did my daughter turn in this her time of need? To Jesus. Baby Jesus. Well a westernized, blonde haired, represenatation thereof.
We set up a precious moments like nativity set on the mantel with a tiny Jesus wrapped in swaddling clothes that sits in a tiny manger. Meadow has loved this baby since we first unboxed it in early November. And she will carry it around, and talk lovingly about it (and sometimes will put it in her mouth which makes me wary of singing Rich Mullins songs around her). So this morning at her most forlorn moment it was to Baby Jesus she turned. She pleaded with me to get "baby" down for her, then put him on the couch, crawled up and held him. Alas, Jesus wasn't enough this morning and she soon pointed to the TV and said "Duck!" Which means she wants to watch Sesame Street.