They said it would feel like gas, I thought as I touched my lower abdomen and the little bump where my baby lives for now. I waited a few seconds.

This feels kinda different. Like butterflies.

I waited a few more seconds. The flutter came again. And no flatulence.

It’s the baby! It’s the baby!

I looked at my watch. 11:15 a.m. I jotted the date and time in my sermon notes, sitting still in the pew as I wiped away happy tears. My baby, my sweet little punkin’ pie, was saying hi. Or dancing. Or hiccuping as it practiced swallowing. Whatever the child was doing, he or she was making momma very happy.

As we sang a hymn and the flutters subsided, I thought about how happy I was just at the slightest evidence of my growing baby. He or she hasn’t done anything to earn my love. This child hasn’t performed, perfected, or accomplished anything. And yet I continue to be filled with insane joy just at this baby’s very existence. I couldn’t even help being a bit of a proud momma as my baby expertly flipped and flitted around in a sea of amniotic fluid.

This is the most brilliant fetus ever, I thought as we sat down and prepared for communion.

I think this is some hint of how God feels about us; His kids, His creation, imago Dei. Filled with insane joy at our very existence. Even a bit proud of the majesty He’s placed in us. And we don’t even have to do anything, but just be.

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