A Birthday and Rebirth Day

Easter is such a sweet reminder of the promise of renewal all around us.

Sometimes it's easy to feel as though life is just a slow progression from birth to death, and that each passing day adds to the patina of nicks and bumps we acquire along the way. Every morning I wake up older: this is a fact. In this world the laws of physics dictate that things wear out, wind down and fall apart.

But oh, Easter! Oh, Spring! Out of death comes rebirth in a cycle as old as life itself, a cycle into which we are all inextricably tied. Winter ends and ice melts. Seeds germinate and bulbs sprout. Yes, every Easter I am one year older, but inside... I am reborn.




Our celebration this year was small and lovely. No big fanfare, no egg hunt, no sunrise service... just the Zoglmans and Nana and Jordan, enjoying a lovely breakfast and spending some time in what I call the Church of Outdoors.
















Every Spring I get excited about new life, but this year I got to celebrate one new life in particular: Maya Rose, our dear little baby friend, turned one on April 9th! It has been such a privilege to watch her learn and grow over the last year. We love you, Rosey.

Our wonderful friends-- and Maya's lucky parents-- hosted a party for the birthday girl, complete with cupcakes, bubbles, and a horde of babies.

Perhaps for Geneva's first juice-box experience I should have picked something less extreme than JUICE BLAST! It's kind of blowing her mind...

We've all experienced this: your child learns some new trick, something that is sure to impress your friends and cement in their minds that your child is a genius. So you say "okay, kid, show us your new trick!"
...and this is the face you get:

Arg, I hate this. I'm sitting at the computer, practically in tears because despite having been working on this blog post for two hours-- and typing shockingly few words during that time-- I still haven't been able to convey how truly special these days were to me. World, I wish you knew what a blessing it is, deep down in my very core, to see the seasons turn and babies grow. I guess words will never be enough.