Last Christmas, I wrote a blog about Jenson and how she was concerned she got more presents than Baby Jesus got from the wise men. This is about her earlier life, from 2012.
I held Jenson for the first time today. As soon as I walked into Dave and Sally's house this morning, she was thrust into my arms and remained peacefully for thirty minutes. Jenson, the four month old first child of Ben and Courtney, is my great niece. She is good natured, blue eyed, and I am delighted to be genetically linked to this little angel. And according to the word on the street, Jenson smells incredibly good. As I held her, I thought about the last hymn in our church song book when I was little, # 600 in Great Songs Of The Church:
When He cometh, when He cometh
To make up His
All His jewels, precious jewels,
His loved and His
Like the stars of the morning,
They shall shine in their beauty,
Bright gems for His
He will gather, He will gather
The gems for His kingdom;
the pure ones, all the bright ones,
His loved and His
Little children, little children,
Who love their
Are the jewels, precious jewels,
His loved and His own.
When He Cometh was written by William Cushing, a Disciples of Christ minister, in 1856. Cushing penned it for the children in his congregation
and he perfectly describes the youngest among us as precious jewels. That's as close to a flawless definition as there can be about Jenson, who is named in honor of Courtney's family. She's a blessed baby. Jenson is descended from families who honor marriage and most importantly, who honor God. She will be raised with stability and an overwhelming blanket of love. Jenson will grow up to be a servant to humanity and a child of the king because that is what she will be taught every day of her life. What a Thanksgiving blessing Jenson is for her parents/grandparents/aunts/uncles/cousins this November. I grieve for those babies who will never glimpse the wonderful life she will lead.
Applicable quote of the day:
"This is a place where grandmothers hold babies on their laps under the stars and
whisper in their ears that the lights in the sky are holes in the floor of
E-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org