The Sacrifice of the Sacred

I feel warm sunbeams on the side of my face as the setting sun casts it's light low.
I see the pirate ship and the wooden blocks left on the living room floor by napping boys as evidence of their play earlier today.
I feel thirsty and am contemplating what I want to drink.
My boys will be awake soon and hungry for a snack and more than likely take far too long deciding what they would like.
And the sacred of the normal goes undetected.
That beneath mustard stained shirts are beating hearts efficiently pumping life to every part of growing bodies.
Inside messy bed heads lie chambers of memory and processing.
Behind the stack of books left on the floor, the dirty shoes by the door, the crumbs from lunch on the table, and the laundry I just washed, lies the very gift of breath overlooked by the mundane.
It's easy to forget, to overlook, to 
As I spoon feed oatmeal to my baby, another mother will end the life in her womb.
And while holding my little boy's hand as we read the train book for the 87th time today, another little boy's hands are tied to a wall in a Russian orphanage.
And as I bathe healthy little bodies splashing water from ceiling to walls, there are rooms standing empty holding their breath to be filled with sounds and sensation of little life.
How we mishandle the sacred.
How we overlook the miracle.
How the day to day desensitizes the supernatural.
The grocery shopping, the vacuuming, the deadlines, the bill due dates, the parties, the to-do-lists, the rain, the game time, the burnt bread, the headaches, the sleepless nights, the arguing, the stained t-shirt, the broken nail, the lost cell phone, the traffic, the tide, or the time...excess and excuses.
All the Mondays and the mayhem do their best to block out life, the foundation...life.
The heartbeat that pounds in you now. The beat in the loud messy being running around your house. The beat in your husband, your mother, your sister.
The heart beat that is stopped by selfishness and fear.
The heart beat that is weakened by malnourishment, and from having never been loved; from having never been held against another beating heart; to feel life surrounding.
The heart beat that never comes on ultrasound screens and leaves anguished empty arms.
Choose life.
Choose the clutter and the chaos.
Choose the toilets that need cleaning and the dishes in the sink.
Choose the hands that need holding, the tears that need wiping.
Choose the fight for abused little hearts that have never known love.
Choose life for the 2 lines on a test held by a girl wondering if there is a choice.
Choose life for the heavy arms waiting to hold it. For their hearts to embrace the life gifted within them.
Choose life for the One who gave it to you.
Choose life; for if we forget the struggle to obtain it...we forget the miracle and tarnish the supernatural with the grime of "self".
And the toys scattered across the floor become hollow echoes of lost joy.
And the warm sunbeams become cold bonds, holding you back from feeling.
And the little boys tied up will die without ever knowing what it is to be alive.
And the women's rights will have left a bottomless cavern of last heart beats.
And the gift will gone.
And sacred sacrificed.