god gives reason to go on

the jews have a saying that a birth is god's way of saying the world should go on. (paraphrase)
sometimes, when taking out two small, brown dogs for their nightly relief, i look at the moon hanging in between the shadowy oaks, and think... every man or woman since the beginning of time has looked at this very same moon. despite wars, or death, recession or prosperity, the moon's ethereal glow comes out every night. every single night.
despite evil, wrongdoers, or loss babies are born. new little lives wipe the slate clean and say there is a reason to hope. god puts his divine stamp of approval on the process and we are all changed by it.
an email this morning updated my soon-to-arrive grandson's progress. my daughter, bethany's doctor had said that her body was definitely gearing up into birth mode. measuring 41 weeks, any day or night, the moon will rise and baby wyatt will change the world as our family knows it. change the world as babies have done time ad infinitum.
his warm, little co-ordinated nest has been aptly feathered. friends, family and co-workers have chronicled his journey with love and gifts.
and this is how it all should be.
last night, my son, john and i went to target. killing time as john shopped, i pushed my cart up and down the aisles. buying nothing in particular, i dawdled over labels and sales. there was another woman tracking the same maze as i was. one young baby in her cart and three tagging along behind. it was that odd hour of the evening when it was possible that supper hadn't yet been eaten or the winding down from the day begun. one of the bitty ones was whining. a soft whirr of discontent ebbed and flowed from his tiny mouth. then began the strings of obscenities... not just your "shut up", but threats of slaps and punches and shut your f***ing mouth before i do. i only heard the boy's complaints because i was so close. unlike some revolutionary rages others do, this was a "i'm hungry, wet, thirsty, tired" cry. the woman, becoming more agitated by his continuance, sank darker into her methods of how she would deal with him. most likely afraid of repercussions if she actually carried any of them out in target, she kept her abuse verbal. at least there. at least until the car.
the other little soldiers, jacket sleeves skimming the floor, tiny boots scuffing along, seemed to shut out her voice as bright things at their eye-level distracted them.
i think children carry their own message from god, despite the adults that would snuff it out.
i'm looking forward to you, wyatt. keeper of hope. make us all better people.