Purity

Nate's baptism went off without a hitch yesterday.

It was an especially joyous, momentous occasion for me.

As I was dressing my son in his pristine, white romper, I remembered how we were seemingly called back to the church, after years of repudiation. I reminisced back to this service. The flood of emotions that renewed our faith. How our relationship with the Lord has evolved over the past two years.

We came to the church when we were in a dark place. A painful hole that had swallowed us. We were suffering and in great need of solace. I wasn't expecting much by attending but I was ever hopeful of finding an outlet to carry my heavy burden. Someone or something to serve as my map, guiding me out of my personal hell and into a brighter, more purposeful place. Little did I know, that night would be the first step toward achieving peace and happiness. The first missing puzzle piece to be put back in its place. The first step to feeling whole again.

I tied Nate's bonnet and took a step back, beaming at my miracle. The baby I prudently thought was beyond my grasp. And how grateful I was to be proven wrong. A few finishing touches and a photo shoot later, we were on our way to celebrate. Celebrate life.

As the ceremony began, I listened carefully to the pastor's words, reciting my pledge to raise my son with Christian values. My solemn vow to do whatever possible to denounce evil that may try to thwart him along the way. I promise, I will. I'd rather die a thousand deaths than allow anything to hurt you or lead you astray. My animalistic maternal instincts were revealed and I abruptly felt overprotective. I flashed forward fifteen plus years, imagining dilemmas he may encounter and how I hoped he would respond. I silently prayed to lead by example and surround him with those who would also be worthy. By doing so, he could deliver on those promises justly.

The water poured over his head, matting his downy hair. In one act of effusion, he was cleansed of sin. He was saved.

And so were we.