We slipped into the row-end chairs seconds before the early service began, the prized Goldilocks air-conditioner seats—not too cold, not too hot. As the lights dimmed, we noticed the young couple on the row directly in front of us as the lady carefully handed a bunch of something to the man next to her. Standing to worship we could better see this something was a bundle of baby, and so very, very tiny!
We waited for the first notes of song, but instead there was a pause as the pastor and his wife took the stage. He called some names we weren’t familiar with, inviting them to join him, so the couple and the little one we’d been observing left their seats and went forward. In brighter lights and the family facing the crowd, we could just glimpse in dad’s arms a navy blue bow adorning a head much too small to hold it as the pastor asked how old she was. Twelve days. Twelve days! No wonder we were amazed at her miniature form!
From the pastor, we heard some things baby-doctors were telling these freshly twelve-day parents, the kind of things that always come as a surprise. And so we prayed, as a family and a church and a body of life-speakers, extending our hands and declaring the word of the Lord over the report of the world.
When baby-family returned to their seats, they weren’t just strangers with a mysterious bundle any more; they were a part of us and we of them as they graciously allowed us to enter into their unexpected story. I’ll admit being weak-kneed in awe of little baby life on any day but I was especially taken with this wee one now.
We stood and sang with renewed purpose while baby-mom covered this and picked up that and adjusted accordingly infant needs for the next little while of sitting quiet. Dad and baby stepped out into the hallway for a moment, returning with baby’s ears covered by the biggest little headphones I’ve ever seen! Both ear coverings together were larger than her entire petite bean! All I could think at that moment was what a good, thoughtful, protective dad he was already.
And then I couldn’t help but see God as our own Good Father through this young dad. He cradled her right next to his heart, she so snugly swaddled, his arms barely perceiving the single-digit pounds yet fully aware of the weighted joy and responsibility he held. Baby-dad’s brother stood next to him, unable to divert his gawking gaze from this wondrous niece for more than a few seconds. *Dad nudges and leans over, shows brother something closer, lips move with some silent saying, smiles exchanged.* Whispers that, in my God-as-Good-Father imagining, would have been Him wonder-eyed declaring about us “Isn’t she amazing? I can’t believe she’s finally here! Do you see how her little mouth looks like a ready kiss? She likes it when I hold her tight. I can’t believe how much I love her already!”
Our Good-Father God adores us, proudly holding and declaring us His very own, fiercely protecting, providing, favoring, blessing, desiring to be oh so close. Uncontainable love, joy spilling over; naming us, claiming us.
“I love this kid so much I’ll do anything, anything for him, for her!”
And so He did; He gave His one and only Son so we could all be called His children! It’s John 3:16; you know it. And the promise, our heritage and legacy, plainly stated in John 1:12, But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name. And this one and only Son Jesus shared the joy of His Father in the greatest act of love and sacrifice we’re beautifully informed of in Hebrews 12:2, …who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
All for us! To have us, to know us, to love us.
He truly is a good, good Father.
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image by camila franco on unsplash