I Know God Loves Me, But I Still Don’t “Get It”
When I’m feeding him a bottle of his mother’s milk at ungodly hours of the morning, he scowls at me like I just put a dent in his car and won’t ‘fess up.
When he sleeps, his arms hang in perfect little “L”s to either side of him, as though he’s flexing for an adoring audience.
When I change his diaper, I am in awe of the process that turns breast milk – “liquid gold”, as they call it – into guacamole. ‘Cause that’s what it is: guacamole. Somebody pass me some tortilla chips.
And that’s pretty much all my 11-week-old-son does: eats, sleeps, and poops. And do you know how that makes me feel?
“This is my son, whom I love. With him I am well-pleased.”
That little ball of baby fat rolls can’t do a thing but I am madly, passionately, ridiculously, embarrassingly in love with him. More so every day.
Now, I’ve heard other dads say things like, “I never really understood my Heavenly Father’s love for me until I became a Father. Now I get it.”
Unfortunately, for whatever reason, I still don’t “get it”. I still don’t seem to have formed whatever neural or spiritual pathways that would be responsible for allowing feelings of deep, deep love to pour into my heart and splash over the sides onto others.
But I know it has something to do with how I feel about Ryder James. He’s totally helpless, can’t keep a job, never cleans up after himself, refuses to lead a small group at church, but I can’t imagine being any happier with him. I turn into a pile of goo just thinking about him.
Sometimes it all makes me feel like I’ve stumbled upon a deep vein of gold and all I’ve got is a rusty spoon to try get the rich stuff out.
Jesus, help me “get it” even more today.