I wrote this in my journal back in September, when our son Isaac was six weeks old. I was reading back over it and felt like I should share it. Hope God meets you with it like He met me, at the changing table (though maybe without the dirty diaper):
I was changing Isaac’s diaper the other day. He did that thing where he throws his arms out, scared and freaking out because he feels, I don’t know, exposed, cold, something.
So I gathered his arms and gently rested my hand on his torso and arms (the trunk of his body is still no bigger than my hand) and said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. Daddy’s here. I love you. Daddy loves you Isaac. I won’t let anything happen to you. Don’t worry. You don’t have to be afraid of anything.
At that moment, I felt the presence of God like he was looking over my shoulder and breathing on my neck. The Lord said to me, “Yeah, that’s how I feel about you, my son. This is the same thing I have been telling you for so long.”
I found it hard to explain why my infant son was flailing about because there was no reason for it. He was laying perfectly safe and comfortable on a sturdy changing table with a soft cushion top. I was standing inches from him, handling him gently, completely taking care of him. He could not have been more secure. He didn’t feel that way. But he was.
How many times do I flail about with no more reason than Isaac had? My Father stands less than inches from me. I am perfectly safe and secure in His hands. My Father takes complete care of me, handles me gently and provides me with comfort and peace.
And yet I flail.
But even as I flail, my Father takes up my little arms, folds them onto my chest, and rests a gentle hand on my whole body, speaking words of love and reassurance to me.
Am I listening?
Are you listening?
Or are you flailing?
Father, thank You for continuing to speak Your words of love and peace and reassurance to us. Help us to hear You. Help us to feel Your loving touch on our fearful, flailing flesh. Thank you for loving your children.