I loaded Milo into the car for an early evening attempt to preoccupy us both before bedtime after a long, fussy day. As I turned from one street onto another, I looked into the rearview mirror to see the other mirror positioned facing Milo in his car seat.
He had one fist raised — always his left fist — and he was studying it. I saw him watch the sunlight from the low sun cover his arm, then just his fist, then just a tiny part of his fist. It flickered, and it was gone. He squeezed his eyebrows together and slowly lowered his arm.
I think his little mind was trying to understand how he could see something that wasn’t tangible. My mind is also trying to understand how I can see something that isn’t tangible. But it is understanding. I am seeing that which isn’t tangible.
I am seeing growth within myself as I look back the past five years of singleness, impatience, marriage, adoption, impatience, and motherhood. I am seeing understanding and deep, deep care in my husband’s affirmations as I express my fears and doubts.
I am seeing a general sense of I’m-familiar-with-you-and-comfortable-with-you in the way Milo settles into our arms and routines. I am seeing trust in the way a friend shares her struggles and mistakes with me.
I am seeing more waiting in my future, but I am also seeing a God who has my best interests in mind. I’m seeing that He loves me and wants my best and wants what’s best for me. I am seeing, at least for today, that I trust Him.
I can see the light. I watch it stream in the upstairs bathroom window at just the right time of the evening. I watch it dance in a leaf-like pattern on the white-tiled kitchen floor.
And I can see the Light. I can’t touch the Light, but I can feel the Light. And I’m happy to be in the Light.