They meant absolutely nothing.

The only thing that meant anything was this woman next to him and the two lives inside of her.

God, please . . .

And God knew exactly what he was saying please for.

God knew.

The Weight of the World

He stands in a hospital gown looking like a lost child, pacing and helpless.

That’s exactly what Kevin feels like. A child, lost and helpless.

All he can do is wait. Wait and pray.

The doctors are somewhere in an operating room getting Jenny ready for an emergency C-section. He looks like an extra from a television medical show who’s waiting for his name to be called so he can stand in the scene and look busy but not quite do anything.

As he paces, Kevin understands something for the first time perhaps ever.

We are all children, lost, helpless, in need of a helping hand.

Like holding Gregory’s hand.

His hand.

And as Kevin clasps his own hands, he thinks of God lending a helpful hand to him. It’s such a cliché and such a commonplace image but it’s true. It’s true and it’s real.

To be able to touch Jesus’ robe.

Sometimes that was all it took to be healed and to have hope.

Sometimes it was just—one—simple touch.

“Give us two, God. Give us two.”

That is what he prays.

He prays for Benjamin and Mark. They are real with defined personalities, Benjamin active and up all hours while Mark steadfast and quiet and strong. They have been alive for thirty-four weeks.

“Let there be more, God. Please.”

He thinks of the wonderfully exquisite gift of life and then thinks of the Christmas cards and stamps and parades and Santas and songs all inundating the world right now.

It’s not about asking; it’s about receiving. It’s not about the gifts but about the gift.

There is a small cross on the wall that he notices. Something small that someone of faith probably put there. He stares at it for a long time and shudders. He thinks of that poor mother kneeling by the manger. The terrified father surely out of his mind. And the weight of the world on their shoulders as creation waited, holding its breath, anticipating the utter glory of this beautiful creation.

Their son. His Son.

“I wouldn’t give my son up—not in a million years—not in a second would I ever give one of mine up, Lord.”

His heart races and he can’t understand how God could do something like that. All he wants is to hold Jenny’s hand and kiss her cheek and know she is okay. To see the sweet, angelic faces of his two sons and know they are okay.

Yet You allowed Yours to come to this rotten failing place in order to die.

Suddenly Christmas and the very notion of what the word gift truly means hits Kevin with full force.

The door opens and the nurse asks him to come with her.