I gently lift the baby from his cradle and hold him gingerly in my arms. He wiggles, he kicks, he grunts, and then, settling for just a moment, he seems to gaze at me inquisitively.
I look at his little hands as they grasp my thumb and I wonder: What blessings will come to others through these hands? Will they one day hold a scalpel to heal the sick or one day hold a Bible to preach the truth? What shoulders will they rest on, what eyes will they dry? How will these hands be part of God’s purpose for his world, his purpose for his people?
I look at his little feet, bare and flailing in the air and before I tuck the blanket back around them I wonder: On what missions of mercy will these feet take him? Where will he go? Whom will he serve? What will God call him to? How will these feet be used by God to fulfill his purpose and carry out his plan?
I look at his little eyes, wet with tears, and I wonder: What injustices will he see and wish to right, what sorrows
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