Two New Stars (and a Father Becoming)

This morning, I woke up with a kind of hope I didn’t have before.

I had a hard time pinpointing just what it was because it was coming from a different place...a different source.

This hope didn't come from what was happening out there:

the news reports, the election results,

or whether or not our leaders will somehow get it together and make peace.

This hope was quieter. It came from something closer.

This new hope came in a small package about the size of a football.

And this new hope came miraculously in twos!

These twins of hope arrived on Monday morning at about 10:15 a.m. and they landed in a hospital.

Cyndy and I woke up and went to the hospital and there in the very sky of my heart

were two new stars shining brightly:

Sora and Stella. (Or was it Stella and Sora?)

And here's the strange thing---they didn't change the world out there, but, instead, they've changed the way I see everything in it.

Because when I hold them—

really hold them—

everything else fades.

Not disappears.

Just… loosens its grip.

The noise, the urgency, the endless swirl—

they fall to the edges.

And in that small circle—

two tiny bodies, two searching sets of eyes—

there is only this:

Presence.

Trust.

and Wonder.

And that wonder changes everything.

They look out from their little cocoon like the world is worth discovering.

Like goodness isn't something to argue about---

but something to be received.

And now I realize—

this kind of hope doesn’t come from fixing the world.

It doesn't come from everything in the world finding its place.

This hope comes from entering it differently.

From narrowing the circle.

From paying attention.

From letting love become specific again.

And it's not just me. I've seen it happen in others right in front of me.

Wes, my son.

At first...hesitant.

Even honest about it.

“I’m better with kids when they’re older,” he told me. “When they can play. I don’t know about this tiny baby stage.”

I witnessed this firsthand.

At first, there was a hesitation in his hands---careful...measured...like he was asking permission.

Then...something shifted.

I watched him with Stella. Just a couple of hours later.

She had just finished feeding.

Didn’t like being uncovered.

Didn’t like being taken from her momma.

And let me tell you, she let us know!

I mean it was a full protest.

Crying hard.

Little tears.

Her whole body was shaking.

And Wes just steps in.

No rush. No panic.

He whispers to her—soft, steady—almost like he’s laughing with her, not at her.

Takes her gently into his hands.

Wraps her up in those swaddling clothes.

And I couldn't help but wonder...was Joseph like this with Jesus? Learning as he went...discovering that love teaches your hands what to do?

And all the time he's doing this it like he’s been doing it every day of his life.

Like something in him already knew.

And just like that… Stella settles. Sora yawns and sighs.

And I stood there watching—

not just a dad holding his daughter…

but a human being becoming something new.

And that just might be the hope I didn’t expect.

Not just that new life has entered the world—

but that it changes us when it does.

Stella.

The star… a spark. Ready, set, go.

Sora.

The sky… a presence. Watching, always there.

And somewhere in between—

a father learning how to hold them,

a grandfather learning how to see again,

and a quiet, steady hope

that doesn’t need the world to be fixed…

to be real.

And what amazes me about this new hope...

is that sometimes---

it fits right here...

in my arms.

Your pastor, and proud grandpa, Brook