Dear baby is one of those dear types who even so tiny hearkens to his mother's voice. I've learned by now not to take it personally when the baby of the house is not of this type, but it is gratifying when one of them comes along.
Now, we've spoken here often of the difficulty of getting all these blessed blessings of any type through church services. When the goal is just to make it an hour without anyone melting down or running out, little else is accomplished. This makes us sad. At the same time, I find that even when I have opportunity to attend a service alone, which happens occasionally in these well-churched parts, I do not attend to a reading or a sermon or a prayer as completely as I might imagine myself doing. I wander off and think about suppers for the rest of the week and the next birthday and how much I want it to be spring, or soak in the personal fog that descends in these moments when I'm unusually alone.
And then I remember what I'm supposed to be doing, and my goodness, that dear man is still talking about Jesus. I am home. Some beautiful voice is speaking words of comfort to me whether or not I am paying attention, whether or not I understand them. I hear him like my baby hears me; not necessarily understanding, but knowing that if that voice is near all is well. How sweet the name of Jesus sounds.