The Magic of Godparenting
In the earliest photo of us, I am concealed behind the bloom of Wren’s baptismal gown while they are ruby-faced, captured mid-scream. It’s an inauspicious snapshot of the relationship to follow. But leap-frog four years. I wait outside Wren’s preschool to pick them up. They’re travelling home with me and godfather Gilberto, my then husband, for their first sleepover. Wren spots me, hunches their shoulders and grins the way they might look at a baby bird. They’re so elated they can’t open their backpack to collect worksheets, and I am captivated by this effusive godchild with a natural white streak in their chestnut hair.
Fog fades the landscape on the coast-bound highway, but not Wren’s bravery. “I can’t believe we can have twosleepovers!” they gush, rifling through the glove box. They proffer gifts to me: an old receipt, a comb. When they find a hawk feather in the side pocket of the truck…. {Read remainder of article on Patheos HERE.}