Spiritual Sundays: Infinity in the Palm of My Hand

Photo by Sura Nualpradid at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Editor’s Note: The Power of Moms is a website for mothers of all religions (and for mothers who are not necessarily religious). Each Sunday, we post a spiritual essay, and we would love to gather a wide variety of perspectives and ideas.  Our goal is to be respectful of all beliefs while simultaneously offering opportunities to share meaningful, spiritual thoughts with one another.

It’s hard to name the exact moment when the frostbitten air of winter finally departs and spring, just-new arrives. But one day you open the door and you just know, by the smell of new life and wet dirt, the brightness of the sun, the freshness in the breeze, that spring is here. And suddenly, in that moment, time goes rushing past. A season of life is over; a new one is beginning.

My daughter, Hattie, came to the world on a snowy November afternoon. We brought her home to a kitchen entirely gutted, and a heating system that spluttered and frequently failed. We spent most of that winter bundled indoors with the rest of our New England neighbors, anxiously awaiting the first, telltale signs of spring. When they came, I pried the doors and windows open and out went my two-year-old son, Hunter, who was buzzing like a spring bug to meet the new season.

On an early April evening after Hunter had escaped out of doors with my husband, I sat facing an open window, rocking Hattie to sleep. I could hear Hunter’s voice outside, shouting and playing. I cuddled little Hattie, who smiled and cooed as I whispered and sang to her. While I had spent the past five months fighting the cold with blankets and buntings, she had spent them growing rosy and fat. The newborn in her was gone. As I realized this, I felt it—that moment when seasons shift, and you feel time racing through you. Suddenly, I wanted everything to stop. I wanted Hattie to stay small in my arms. As beautiful as the moment was, with spring so wonderfully present outside my window, time was there with it, pulling the moment away from me. I felt a desperate pang. Soon Hattie wouldn’t fit nestled in my arms anymore. My son’s voice outside was proof of how quickly babies change and grow.

And then, as I began to mourn this unstoppable passing of time, the words of an almost-forgotten poem came into my mind:

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

The words spoke to me of the eternal nature of God’s creations, including the precious bundle I held in my arms. Looking at her I could see visions of heaven—the world in the grain of sand. She was so much more than the little baby smiling up at me. In her rounded eyes and soft cheeks I saw a glimpse of her true nature as a daughter of God.

And there was more. This simple quatrain suggested that our cherished moments here on earth are part of a greater sum: eternities within hours. I realized that I was holding infinity in the palm of my hand. This moment I shared with my baby wasn’t going to be buried and forgotten. It was an eternal moment that would last always. I began to understand that the precious times shared with my quickly growing children will always be a part of my life. Even though the moments end, they are part of the continuum of my eternity and will always be mine.

As my family and children continue to grow, I find myself, at the passing of seasons, looking back to that April evening. I remind myself of what I felt then . . . an assurance of eternally lasting moments. And I feel grateful for my vision of heaven in my growing and changing treasures.

[1] 1. William Blake, “Auguries of Innocence.”

About Janessa Ransom

Janessa Ransom grew up along the banks of the Boise River. At eighteen she left for a view of the Charles River in Cambridge, Massachusetts. While studying English literature she met her husband, and then stayed in Massachusetts to start her family. Now she resides in Utah, alongside the appropriately named Dry Creek. She is the mother of four children, and spends her non-mothering time reading, writing, biking, and sewing. Visit her blog at Gallery of Portraits.