Musings on Dreaming Babies

In the space of a minute or so his cute, round face morphs from serene, to gentle smiles and silent giggles. Smiles break into a few seconds of what appears like non-vocalized open-mouthed laughter that suggests he’s experiencing sheer delight. He slept on during the brief entertaining show he gave us. His is the pure, innocent joy of a newborn baby, only hours old.

As ol’ guys are inclined to do, Andy – Hudson’s great-grandpa – and I discussed what induced this precious little guy’s display of delight. I commented that my mother used to say that a baby, when smiling during sleep, is often reacting to pleasant sensations caused by “wind” in the tummy, or “gas,” as we say in Canada. Andy thought of that too. Of course, we know that tummy-ache often awakens a baby, whose pained bawling can soon waken a whole household!
 

I venture to suggest that a sleeping, smiling baby, in his (or her) early hours and days of life outside of the womb, might sometimes be having pleasant dreams. But what on earth do newborn babies dream about and what sort of images do they see in them?

Credit: www.dreamstime.com

Moms, midwives and neo-natal medics, psychologists and neuroscientists might well have their ideas about that. However, I’ll chip in some uninformed layman suggestions of things that they likely do not dream about.

They don’t dream of growing up to lie and cheat and steal, or of committing adultery, or violating women or children. I don’t suppose they’d dream of enjoying future celebrity and great wealth, or of wasting away on skid row, helplessly hooked on drugs or alcohol.

Surely they’d never dream of a day when they’ll brandish guns and kill people or blow them to smithereens – possibly themselves included. On the other hand, I don’t suppose they dream about bringing help and healing to the broken, of protecting others and doing all manner of beautiful deeds, out of loving care for them.

Perhaps their dreams don’t take a visual form that’s distinguishable to them at all, but rather represent a 'state of being,' in response to sensations of comfort or discomfort.  

Some babies grow up to take pleasure in evil, adopting pernicious ideas and developing attitudes that lead to destructive actions (newborn Adolph Hitler was probably a cute and inoffensive little guy, too).

Some grow up to value wholesome, helpful ways and demonstrate positive attitudes that lead to noble, life-enriching actions for them and the people around them (Mother Teresa of Calcutta was once a newborn). Of course, numerous familial, cultural and religious influences and circumstances play into what a child becomes.

Baby Hudson is precious and loved and well-provided for. But, is not the infant sucking the empty breast of a mother in a disease-ravaged, famine-stricken land precious, too? Of course he or she is precious.

Many older generation North Americans will remember the lines of the children’s song, Jesus loves the little children, All the children of the world . . . All are precious in His sight ... —precious, regardless of colour, ethnicity, culture or religion.  The ‘accident’ of birth likely placed most of us and our children and grandchildren in kinder environments than most people on the planet experience.

The year is still quite young, yet so soon its innocence fades, as global news reports reach us daily about tragic consequences of human error and hateful, senseless evil actions. Amidst the bad, good is worked out through the lives of those who dream good dreams and fulfil visions of humble greatness in serving others with love and care.

What smile-inducing, gaze-raising dreams represent our prayers for this year and the babies and young people in our lives?

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The above post was adapted from Peter's weekly column, P-Pep! published in The Guide-Advocate, January 15, 2015.

 

Peter's second book is a compilation of inspirational articles from his weekly column—on a variety of themes. These are interspersed with brief expressions intended to encourage.  Ebook edition is now available on Amazon.

 

ISBN: 978-0-9920074-2-3 (Angel Hope Publishing)

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Beyond the Swimsuit Issue -- Gibson

We took to the water recently, the Preacher and I. Bodies filled the indoor pool, sporting a colorful array of swimsuits, in varying coverages. We wore boring, conservative styles, befitting our weathered frames.

A few decades ago, we looked different.

I shrieked the first time I saw the Preacher in a bathing suit—a roaring-twenties-style, one piece, purple full-body costume. He bought it himself, “because no one else had one.” Sleeveless, it flowed almost to his knees and floated clear up to his collar bones. It had narrow green and white horizontal stripes, and buttons down the front.

Even in the seventies, that swimsuit was an anomaly.

The Preacher’s physique has changed since then. He once had the profile of a pencil (with long wavy hair), weighed a mere hundred and sixty-five pounds, and enjoyed the reputation around campus as an academic and sports heavyweight.

Wearing that suit made him dangerous. His well-aimed teardrop dives erupted in volleys of splashes that sent clusters of co-ed girls, myself among them, squealing in protest to the pool’s edges.

My own most memorable bathing suit was only that for me: a rather conservative black bikini with tiny bright flowers.

I’d purchased it in spite of my raising, one that installed in me a deep-seated certainty that only the female lower legs, arms, neck, and facial skin could tolerate direct air. I’d never owned a two-piece, let alone a bikini, and I wore it only once, on a swim date with the Preacher. (At least one of us was properly clothed.)

On another visit to the local pool with my grandchildren, a lovely lady wearing a truly teeny, weeny, eensy bikini entered the pool area. Benjamin’s already large eyes widened even more. “Nana,” he exclaimed, in loud amazement. “That lady is wearing her undies!”

I chuckled. “It sure does look that way, doesn’t it?”

He watched her slip into the water, then turned to me, “Nana,” he said again. This time his voice softened into full-blown compassionate wonder. “Did she FORGET to put on her bathing suit?
Does she HAVE a bathing suit? ”

“Do you think she needs one?”

He nodded slowly. “Yaw. She should get one. Mama should give her one, I think.”

Right there, I felt a pang of sadness. Our sexually charged culture will assault that beautiful innocence. Attempt to batter it on the craggy cliffs of peer pressure. The devil will help.

My grandson looked at a beautiful body, and saw need—hers. Many others would have seen need too—their own.

Pornography, flourishing through easy internet access, has become a terminal cancer among us. The Preacher and I have watched it kill marriages and rot friends and colleagues from the inside out.

Christ grieves those tragedies—many involve his own children.

Nevertheless, like the Preacher’s well-aimed teardrop dives, websites like www.pureintimacy.org , www.covenanteyes.com , and www.x3pure.com, splash a volley of refreshing hope in the midst of the maelstrom.

If pornography has seared you, remember: God is far bigger.

Kathleen Gibson, faith and life columnist. Author, West Nile Diary, and Practice by Practice
This column was published on June 2, in Yorkton This Week, and online.