it's 6:30 a.m. ellie's room is still dark, but the birds are already singing.
i just fed her, and i can't pry myself away. i just want to run my fingers over her perfect head, through her perfect, silky-fine hair. i want to feel the curve of her round baby cheek as my finger strokes it. i don't want to miss one little noise she makes or the way she immediately quiets when she hears my voice. i dream dreams for her. i weep for the times her heart will be broken. i pray that she knows how much i love her, knowing she will never be able to comprehend just how much.
as i sit here in my beautiful daughter's dark nursery, the Lord whispers to me.
"do you feel that? do you feel how your heart nearly bursts with love for her? how every time you set eyes on her that loves grows, welling up on the inside of you until you think you'll run out of room?
"that, my child, that is not even the beginning of how much i love you. i love you infinately more than that. and i love ellie infinately more than that.
you will never know how much i love you."