In a family of people that would probably find a way to be late to their own funeral, my great-nephew Samuel is a rarity.
Twenty-seven weeks early, to be exact. He was born on Good Friday, as if to remind us that miracles can and do happen every day.
He is doing so well, so very well. Four pounds, twelve ounces of snuzzly, sweet baby boy.
I finally got to meet him this week (did I mention he comes from a late people?). I never knew it was possible to pack that much cuteness in such a little package.
It won't be long and he'll be home. When that blessed day comes, I don't think his mother will put him down for a long, long time.
Thanks for all the love and prayers you've showered on this family.