When Walt Arden entered the world he blinked and cried a tiny, buttery cry. With the weakness of his neck, the strength of his cry, and the wonder of new eyes in bright lights- Walt undid everyone. The rushing, celebratory room sighed in his perfectness.
There is nothing so hopeful and orienting as seeing someone join the earth party. Walt’s parents are my friends, whom I love, and it was my pleasure to be with them on that happy Monday afternoon. I knew of their quiet anxieties of the unknown and watched the assurance spill over them when the little bundled boy was set in arms made for him; the arms that made him. An assurance that Walt is theirs and they are his, and we are His, and He knows us.