If you’re new to the blog, I hope this post doesn’t scare you. If you’re a regular, grab a Coke, pop some popcorn and enjoy the show.
Saturday morning, November 28, had been on the calendar for a long, long time. We have a habit of setting the baptismal date well in advance – partly because I’m a planner and that’s the way I roll and partly because I love baptisms. There is such a newness, an innocence and a touch of pure beauty to each one. And yes, I cry everytime.
The night before, we finally got motivated to put up some Christmas things around the house. But, by 11, we were both pumpkins and completely exhausted. The house still looked tornado-ish, but we figured we would just “pick up” in the morning. Bad idea. Haven’t I learned anything with all these kids? The day never goes as planned. Ever.
Luke had a rocky night, woke up early and we found ourselves rushing around to get ready. In the midst of all that, Luke’s ostomy bag started leaking. We had this bright idea to warm a towel so the warmth would make the sticky wafer stick to his skin a little better. In theory, that sounds like a totally practical idea. In practice however, well… Let’s just say when you put a DRY towel in a microwave, you’ve got a fire on your hands. So, as I’m yelling at Scott for the towel, I smell this horrific burning and hear Scott opening every door in the house. Classic Whitaker folly.
I just looked in the mirror at Luke and laughed. I mean, what else are you gonna do? This is one of the most important days of Luke’s life and we’re burning towels and trying to finish decorating for Christmas. Ultimately, the decorations got shoved in a closet, I put my sister-in-law on vacumming duty, Granny and Uncle Cory on kiddo duty and changed yet another leaky bag just as we were walking out the door.
Amazingly, we made it to the baptism on time.
I should point this out…if you’ve been reading the blog for a while, you’ll remember that Luke has already been baptized. It was an emergency situation on September 27, done by his Godfather, Fr. Dean. We’ve chosen to keep those photos private.
While the photos immediately bring forth tears to my eyes and I am immediately taken back to the NICU – I realize they might freak you out. Just know this. There was tremendous peace in that corner of the eighth floor. Our tiny 3.5 pound baby lay before us, on a ventilator, fighting for his life, yet we felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. It wasn’t the happy, glowing, family-filled event we experienced on Saturday, yet it was just as beautiful, just as powerful. And, yes, I cried 🙂
Saturday was spectacular. The smell of chrism, the awe of the kids present, the pride of the Godparents and the thankfulness in the air. There certainly wasn’t a more perfect weekend to finish the baptismal rite than on Thanksgiving. Enjoy the pics!