Like This

Yesterday I was holding my four-week-old son Aaron, who was asleep on my chest, and I thought to myself, "this is Heaven".  An innocent thought at first, but as I sat with it for a few minutes the depth of what I was feeling began to set in as I realized, Heaven probably is exactly like this.  You know, the feeling of having this really profound moment with someone when everything just disappears, and it's just the two of you.  The way a baby just curls his entire self into you, and you lean forward and kiss his little head, and in that moment there is nothing else, just love.

My mind never stops wandering, especially during prayer.  I'm constantly jumping to the next thought, what to wear tomorrow, what to make for supper, what my friends are up to, what I saw on TV yesterday.  I have often wondered what it is really like to truly focus on God alone.  Because to be honest, I find it difficult.  In fact, I don't think I ever have, though I've often tried.  However, in that tender moment with my son, God gave me a glimpse of what it's like, through one who is so close to him.  This evening my husband and I took our little son to adoration, and as I sat in front of Jesus with my little infant, for the first time I felt as though I was truly entering into the presence of God.  Holding Aaron in my arms made God feel so much more real to me, and as I turned my gaze from the Eucharist to my baby and back again, I could feel God ministering to me through my son, and drawing me in.

This is how God loves me.  This is how He wants me to be before him - the way a newborn baby is with his mother.  Babies are not distracted, and they don't overthink things.  They just are.  They ask for what they need, and they receive what is given.  And when you give yourself to them, they hang on to you like you are the only person in the world, because for them you are.  This is what God is offering me every time I turn to Him - the very gift of Himself. 

There are so many things parenthood teaches me about who I am before God, and the other day I was thinking about how our sin can cause us to distance ourselves from God because we feel so wretched before Him.  And I thought about babies and the way they call on their parents.  Aaron doesn't worry about waking me for the fifth time in the night, he just calls me when he needs me.  And he is confident I will come for him - and I always do.  And when I get there, he is not turning away from me in shame, he reaches for me because he expects that I will be there to help him with whatever he requires.  And I never begrudge him for needing me so much.  In fact, I take great joy in it.  How much more then does God rejoice in giving me what I need?  If in my humanity I can love my children so deeply, how much greater is God's perfect love for His children?

I heard a song tonight, I can't remember the specific words, but it spoke of humility before God, and as I looked into baby Aaron's face, I realized that's what it is.  Babies are born humble.  They know who they are before their parents, and before God.  As we grow we lose that, and at a certain point it becomes scary to face God knowing that you are not perfect.  But as with babies, that doesn't matter, because the love God has for us is so much greater than any wrong we could do.  All He wants is to take you in His arms, rub your back, kiss your forehead, and have you fall asleep on His chest.

This is how God loves.  With the tenderest, simplest and most profound love.  Perfect, Fatherly love.