Pouring Out

It is more blessed to give than to receive, to be poured out, broken.

That first latch.

Those eyes.

I prayed to be poured out for you. 

For the grace to give.

I am filled to be emptied.  I cannot find more satisfaction than is found in this action.  It houses pain, but so much more joy.  The crystal blue eyes that look up into mine, as I pour out for you. 

The little fingers that grab, grab, grab. 

My hair, nose, mouth, chin, teeth. 

The attentiveness with which you watch my facial expressions.  As you grow into your body, you can interact and engage with a simple look.

We have complete conversations with no words.  Pre-verbal does not mean pre-communicative.

The sacrament of giving, of pouring out, of self-emptying so that you can be filled and live.

It is so much more blessed to give than to receive.  Never has eating served a higher purpose.  This once agonizing act now serves to provide life for two.

I cling to the moments.  You are more efficient now, so the seconds are fleeting.

You are learning how to self-sustain, which will carry you when I let go.  But for now, I carry you.  I pour into you.  He pours into you.

We have struggled.  The sacred act has been at times a wrestling match. 

The arched back. 

The sputtering. 

The showers.

But we persevered, and you have thrived. 

And instead of wondering how long I have to do this, I wonder at the privilege and ache at the thought of it ending.

I am filled with grace, and that grace is poured into you.

Grace fills, and empties, and fills again in the emptying.  It is the ascension of the mountain, only to be poured out all the way down.  And that is why we ascend.  Because it is more blessed to give than to receive.

There are no pretenses, no masks.  We remain unedited for one another.  You have yet to learn how to sensor, and I have no need.

God is in the nourishment.  He is in the pouring out. 

In Him, I am filled, and thus, in Him, you are filled.

We reflect divinity to one another.  So simple, so pure. 

There is hope.

I whisper thanks, and I see Eucharist in your eyes.