Two years had passed since those two little angels were born. I remember everything about them. I remember their smiles and their laughter. I remember the sound of their crying. I remember the day they learnt that throwing things around makes loud noises, noises they liked so much they would throw everything hard on the ground again and again until it broke. I have almost every moment captured in photos and in my mind. As I flick through the photo albums, I enter into my past, reliving the day of Christening two years ago.
It was a huge celebration in a small church. Everyone was invited, friends, family, colleagues and neighbors. We all came in the morning whilst a cool breeze was blowing in the background and gathered in the small hall. A huge golden bowl was perched at the front, and behind it a raised slab on which a Bible was propped open. The Church itself was a beautiful form of art, with carved walls, paintings and stained glass windows. I remember sitting on the very first bench beside my friend and her husband who were carrying a baby each, both dressed in identical outfits to accentuate their twin appearance. As I turn one page of the album after another, I find myself staring at the babies fondly. They were dressed in pink and white frocks, with lace socks and white shoes that created noise when they hit the ground. The photos show the babies smiling or staring around in awe. Some other photos show them cringing and crying as cold water hits their bodies when they are Christened by a particularly old Father, who was bent over a crooked staff. As I look at the photos, the sounds of cheering and chanting and the crying of the babies seem to hit my ears once more. After the Christening, we all went outside to the great lawns on the hillside where the brunch was being served. There were tea, cakes and light snacks. The photos have captured everything. I think, as I look down upon the green hillside once more, crowded with white tables and chairs, ladies smiling at the camera and the men standing upright, cigars and pipes in their mouths. A few photographs show teenagers, boys in casual T-shirts and girls in tops and jeans. Cousins, I remember.
Then, just when I am about to shut the album, I flick over one last time to see a priceless photo. My friend waving from behind one of her daughters, with the sun shining right over her, the rays falling around like a huge golden canopy. She looks happy. If you look closer at the photo there is a watery gleam in her eyes. She was at the brink of tears that day, but those tears were tears of gratitude. They were tears of happiness to see her entire world gathered to celebrate what she still called the biggest event of her life. Belief is a strange thing, I think as I look down upon her. For a Christian as devout as she, the best moments are the simplest ones.