So I made my daughter a gown for her baptism.
But she didn't wear it.
She wore another gown, one that is almost 100 years old. One that was worn by my grandfather, from whom she inherited one of her names. I was conflicted, because I put a lot of time and money into the dress. And let's be frank, I was rather proud of it. But oh, God is daily working on my pride through this most precious gift of my daughter. I realized that her baptism was not the stage upon which I showcase my sewing skills. It is for her soul, her first step towards Christ.
So she wore this gown that was passed down in the same way as our faith. As my husband and I gently dressed her in this fragile family heirloom, I knew it was exactly right. There was no baptismal cake because I was too busy holding her to bother. It was not done in our new parish, but instead in a cozy chapel. She was the first infant baptized there and everyone welcomed her so graciously, gently tracing the cross on her tiny forehead.
"The Christian community welcomes you with great joy. In its name I claim you for Christ..."
Such great joy.