One night I found myself immersed in the ocean of grace, absorbing truth more than shame. Oh, how I wanted it to be endless and take the moment into today. And tomorrow. And the weeks to come. But I haven’t reached the Shore yet, and so I etch His mercy onto my heart to revisit the next time I forget.
“Mom, God speaks to me sometimes,” my baby said as I kissed her forehead goodnight.
I’ve loved her forehead — and her brother’s — from the first night I met them… from the first nights I pulled back their newborn caps in the hospital to reveal their faces, ripe for kissing. A decade later, I still love the precious spot above their eyes that calls to my mommy lips.
I silently tell them to stop growing up. But not in moments like that conversation. Their maturity leads me back to the ocean of grace when I’m least expecting the journey. When I can’t feel the slightest wind. When the calm is so quiet it leaves you numb.
“He speaks to you? Really? Tell me more about that.” Silence. “What does He say?”
“Well, He just says stuff to me.”
“When does He talk to you, sweetie?”
“He tells me that you really do love me when I think that you don’t. And He tells me that He loves me, too.” Her eyes could avoid mine no longer, and she risked a glance into my soul.
She was only eight, but the storm was already raging in her heart. In her thoughts. Yes, that storm — the battle between truth and lies, between the Redeemer and the Enemy. Oh, she’s just a girl, and Satan wants to make her his victim. But Christ’s pursuit is so very real already, too. I saw it that night.
It’s amazing to watch the Great Story, the Sacred Romance, unfold in your child’s bedroom. I know it’s unfolding in your homes, too. In our ordinary homes…
“And, you know what?” she adds. “Sometimes I feel pressure in my mind, and I know He wants to talk to me, but I don’t want to listen.”
“Oh, honey, I know how that feels. I avoid Him sometimes, too.”
“I don’t want to hear what He has to say, so I quickly think of something else when I feel that pressure,” she risked again. Quick glance into my eyes. So healthy that little one was, speaking of her heart’s idols openly.
“Does He ever speak to you, Mom? What does He say?”
I told her how He confirms His love to me in those moments when I think I’m a really bad mom.
And I revealed my own idols and how God reminds me He’ll satisfying more than a bigger house with a better floor plan. More than achievement. More than success and the admiration of others.
Yes, that night, when aspects of life were unraveling… and I was over-sensitive… and I was choosing to be numb rather than real, my Maker sent a messenger to remind me of His Love Story.
I’ll have to tell her about this someday.