Each time a child is born,
particularly after a grandparent dies,
we sense that life goes on.
All is not lost.
There is a deep resilience,
stronger than the grasp of death.
The babe is lifted high
toward the welcoming stars,
a young life
with just a kernel of ripening,
a new resident
in the heart of existence.
All those gathered proclaim:
“Behold, behold, this new born one!
Let us nurture and keep alive
the sacred mystery of hope
hallowed in this young one’s heart.
We sow our dreams of a future
in this freshly birthed being.
We give our loving promise
to guide and guard this child.
Always we will remember
our oneness in the dancing cosmos.”
The stars say not a word.
They bow in reverence
to this creature,
whose adult hands will hold
power enough
to blow up a planet,
or seed a waiting garden.
The stars smile,
for they too have hope,
and night
turns toward the dawn.
© Joyce Rupp
