They arrive - two - in plain brown boxes; a picture and a name neatly tucked into the folds .
I take each one in my lap as she must have done, run a finger over the tiny stitches. In her pictures she is smiling shyly, laughing. I smile too, a world away.
I drape one blanket over the armchair, put the other where I will have it in the morning for my quiet time. I wonder if she knows the God who stitched her together in the still dark of the womb, if she knows He loves her beyond imagination. I tuck her pictures between the pages of my bible, whisper her name to the Savior and pray.
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