Hanging By a Thread

Almost a year ago, eleven months to be precise, Chris and I celebrated the upcoming birth of our sweet baby boy at our first shindig hosted by my best friend, Krystal and her wonderful mom, Diana.  It was here that we all tied a small piece of twine onto our wrists that would serve to remind us to pray for Noah, his birth, his mama, and the world around him as his arrival date was quickly approaching. It reminded me on the “I am so pregnant I can hardly move more than a waddle” days that the Creator was doing something amazing inside of me, knowing my son intimately as he was nestled in my womb – continuing to shape his face, his hands, his feet, his heart, his love, his laugh, his personality – for he is fearfully and wonderfully made. This little bracelet meant a lot to me, not just mine but our friends and family who joyfully kept theirs until Noah made his debut. I became a little more sentimental with mine, continuing to wear it long past October 2nd.
Kristi and Krystal tying on their strings at the Corner Kitchen.
(Noah in womb,thirty weeks)
Well, it was a sad day yesterday here at the Ford Casa.
Worn and tattered, loved and ragged, it was barely holding on… and yesterday when Chris picked it up off the kitchen floor and put it in my hands, asking me if it was mine, I felt a rush of sadness. That little piece of string has been through a lot with me, with us, and has taken on a much larger meaning than just a piece of string. I could have tied it back on, but I didn’t. I tucked it safely away with Chris’ that had fallen off a few months back (I think around early May according to photos) into my jewelry box where it will likely stay forever. I could put it in his baby book or give it to him when he’s eighteen or on his wedding day, but to him it would probably be two pieces of frayed cotton that would get lost or tossed aside.
I know the meaning that it holds and the many times it has reminded me that I am not in charge of my life or Noah’s, he is simply mine on loan, and I will keep him and take care of him until he’s worn and tattered, loved and ragged. Even on the tough days, which let’s face it, are a cake walk to some of the stories I hear, that little string has brought me peace and serenity. It’s my hope that even though the string no longer sits on my right wrist, that the peace and prayer and reflection continues. 
Here’s to you, little string, for your strength and consistency for the last eleven months:
Noah found the string within hours of his arrival.
(Noah at ten hours old)
 
Chris’ string surviving explosive spit-up. 
(Noah at six weeks)
My string and I enjoyed snuggle time with the boy. 
(Noah at three months)
The string during Noah’s first tastes of solid foods. 
(Noah at four months)
Chris’ string journeying on our afternoon walks in the crisp spring air. 
(Noah at five months)
The strings traveled to Kentucky for Wilson’s play.
(Noah at five months)
 
At the time when my sister had us all tie this string around our wrists I could have never imagined the sentiment it would have all this time later. I am convinced even more that it’s the simple things in life that bring the most joy – the non-complicated, no strings attached, generous, timeless, better with age and experience, photographic, burned into your memory moments that can never be broken or replaced. 
It’s just that simple.

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3 responses

  1. Thanks for sharing, Beth. You have inspired to me get some sort of bracelet that will serve as a reminder to pray for the baby growing inside of me. Great idea!

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