We have a newborn in the house. He’s about a month old and wakes up at least once to feed during the night. Lorie and I woke up about fifteen minutes ago to his great wailing and crying. That’s right, I’ve only been awake for about fifteen minutes, so take this post for what it’s worth.
For this little one everything is an immediate need, EVERYTHING! I can only imagine that when he feels hunger pain, it really is hurts. The scenario usually works out like this: Lorie gets up to heat up a bottle while I get up to change a very full diaper. Every morning, it is a team effort.
He is a writhing, screaming ball of hungry fury which makes getting a diaper on him an interesting experience. Once that is done, I have one of three options. I can either 1) place him back in the bassinet to let him wail and writhe until Lorie gets back with a bottle. I can 2) hold him at arm’s length, trying to sooth him but staying out of the range of his flailing appendages. Or I can 3) hold him close and tight.
The first option is not an option. What dad would let his child suffer alone. The first option is horribly selfish. The second option isn’t much better. Who would hold their child at arms length when he hurts so bad? What kind of dad would choose to sooth his hurting child from a distance?
There are consequences to the third option. It doesn’t sooth him, only sustenance can do that. His feet kick and push-off from my stomach with quite a bit of power for such a little guy. His hands furiously go from pounding fists, to scraping claws, to grasping and rending any piece of flesh they can get a hold of. And he cries… No, he screams right in my ear which I can only assume is experience some sort of damage.
But, I hold him anyway. I hold him close. I let him rage against me, accepting his torment as my own. His cries echo through my chest, his sobs reverberate through my body.
I wonder is this is something close to what God experiences?
We rage against him for untold reasons. We wail and writhe, at times beating, clawing and rending his heart. Our feet kick against him, and we try to push-off out of his grip. We are in pain, we are furiously angry, or perhaps we are just in our own self-centered world fighting against the unseen. Yet, he holds us tight, taking our torment as his own through Christ, our angry sobs thundering through his chest.
Will you accept any comfort today?