I gaze at my glass of water and am grateful for yesterday.  Yesterday, Mother’s Day, when my youngest son was baptized.

Just like my hands slip as I hold the dewy outside of my perspiring drink, I cannot fully grasp the meaning of his baptism. I am aware of the mystery of it all, of God choosing my son to be adopted into Christ, and of Luke obeying that call.

What I cannot grasp is how, and why, and what is to come. It feels fragile to me and yet more sure than anything. We are weak, and He is strong.

I see the drops on my glass dissipate, evaporating in the afternoon sunshine. And I wonder what is next for Luke in this journey of faith, this washed-clean start in a dirty world. 

I think back to what else I learned yesterday about water. About the Israelites quarreling with Moses, accusing him and God both for bringing them into the wilderness to die of thirst.