When I got home from work tonight your mom was rushing out the door to a dentist appointment. You’d just eaten and had your diaper changed, so you were lying quietly, rocking in your swing, for the five minutes we talked in the living room. She left and I stood in front of your swing, talking to you about my day.
Your eyelids began to flutter, like maybe you were going to fall asleep. I whispered that I was going to get something to eat, and then I’d be right back. But, as I walked away you began to cry.
I turned around, asked you what was wrong, and immediately you stopped crying. So I stood there and kept talking. A big yawn over took your sweet little face, and you settled into the calm.
Until I tried to walk away.
I took three steps before you started crying again. And again, I turned, spoke to you, and you stopped crying. We did this three-part dance two more times.
Finally, I unhooked you from your swing, took you in my arms, and at last, you were calm.
I sat on the couch and propped you up on my knees so we could look each other in the eyes. You smiled so big I could hardly stand it! It was so perfect and precious that it made me smile.
It turns out that all you wanted was to spend some time with daddy, to be held in my arms, to have some one-on-one time.
In spite of all your fussiness, of being so demanding, I was glad you wouldn’t let me leave. I’m glad you kept crying until I picked you up. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have gotten to share that moment.
Lewis, sitting there on the couch, holding you, all of my attention focused on your beautiful little face; you made me realize I don’t remember the last time that all I wanted was to have the full attention of my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember the last time I fought for just a moment with Him. I don’t remember crying out in persistent desperation until I felt His touch.
Maybe I’m afraid of being undignified, of acting like a child. But I am a child. His child.
I’ll never outgrow crying out to my Heavenly Father until my throat hurts, my eyes sting, and my body exhausted. And He will never grow tired of me crying out to Him. I pray that I will begin to crave time with Him, like you crave time with me.
Thank you for reminding me I will always be His child, Lewis. I owe you. More than you’ll ever know.
I love you. God loves you more.
Could your relationship with God afford to be more undignified? When was the last time you were “childish” in your pursuit of the Father?
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