Life is beautiful; life is precious.

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Oh, we admire life’s beauty. We see it in morning rains. We hear it in the cooing of mourning doves. We see it in the magnificent Grand Canyon or the delicate Eiffel Tower. We feel it in the kiss of sunshine and even in our morning coffee. We sense it in the humbling expanse of the ocean and the limitless bounds of the universe. We want to travel to Venice and hold hands and rest our child on our breast and watch the sunset and wiggle our toes in beachy sands. Even in our darkest points in history, we see the human soul always struggling upward, toward the sun, toward the Son. We have this zeal and longing and love for LIFE. Daily we see it’s beauty, in the magnificent and in the minute, and even in the grotesque. But do we see it where it is unseen? Or rather, do we hope for it’s beauty, do we have faith in it’s dearness where they eye cannot penetrate? Is it still precious to us, even then?

I recently saw images of a fetus, a “little one,” that had been miscarried at 12 weeks. They were actual photographs not computer renderings based on ultrasounds. I saw it. I saw the tiny rib cage, protecting miniature lungs and a young heart. I saw the eyes, which has it’s hundreds of thousands of nerves straining to connect. There were hands and feet with miniscule carpals and metacarpals, with a thumb still clutched up to the mouth, as if to suck, preparing for… what would not ultimately come. It was an absolute wonder held in the palm of the hand. The delicacy, the beauty, the perfection of it all! How different it seems now, lacking breath, from that same wonder we celebrate with balloons and streamers and chocolate covered strawberries and couscous salad. Suddenly, all the baby showers I’ve been to seem a disappointing and paltry celebration for the greatest, and most inexplicable miracle: the soul wrapped in flesh. So do we see the beauty? Do we see how precious? This little one has an intrinsic, inalienable value, that requires no justification nor defense.

And then I wonder, as God holds in His palm the ever-expanding universe is that not an allegory for this tiny fetus in the palm of his mother’s hand: her whole world collapsed into this one tiny frame… While this one tiny frame carries the imprint, the seal, the imago of the Infinite One!