“Babies amaze me.” I said to God the other day.
“I gave you three of your own. Weren’t you amazed then?” He replied.
“Yeah, I guess so. I think so. The way I remember it now I was mostly worried … and tired.”
God doesn’t say anything. He’s good at being quiet.
“You’re right. I was amazed then. You have had a lot planned for me, but, motherhood, it was the highlight of my life. Seriously. I can’t think of anything else that means as much to me.”
“Your welcome.” He said.
“It’s still everything to me.” I tell him.
“I know, Janet.”
“ Did you know I was afraid when I had the mumps at 13 that I wouldn’t be able to have any?”
“Yeah,” said God, “it’s boys and testicles that mumps affect, but I made you stubborn and maybe a little bit crazy, so it’s okay that you got that mixed up, back when you were 13. Things always work out the way I intend. ”
“But I am a different kind of amazed now. I am ever more amazed” I tell God.
“How so?” He asked.
“It’s like they are bundles of promise, hovering between disaster and promise. One tip of the scales sends them in one or the other direction. It seems like a delicate, dangerous way to handle things.”
“That’s a little bit morbid and overly dramatic, don’t you think?” God says fatherly.
“I can’t help it. It seems that way. So much depends on what their parents do.” I confess.
“Yeah.. go on.” He says.
“I made mistakes.”
“I know that.”
“Well, I am sure glad you don’t give me the chance to do it over, because I would most likely make the same ones again. It seems like you could have made the plan a little better… maybe where not so much depended on the mothers and dads.”
“But you just told me that being a mother was the best thing I ever gave you.” God says.
“It was.”
God is quiet again while I think.
“But that’s because of them. Who they are, isn’t it? It’s not because I was their mother. You already had the plan of who they would be.”
“Well, that’s true to a point, but I couldn’t have done it without you. Even with all the things you did wrong, you did two things really right.”
“What was that?” I asked.
“You showed them how much you loved them.”
“There was easy. I hardly had a choice.” I said.
“… you showed them how much you love me.” He said, ignoring my interruption.
“I didn’t always do that as good. That was harder.”
“I know. But that’s okay. You owned up to those times. There is value in admitting you aren’t perfect.” God said, his natural tendency for forgiveness all over our conversation.
“And because of that you’ve seen them grow into men who love me, haven’t you?” God continued.
“Yes.”
“We are both happy about that aren’t we?”
“You do realize I love them more than you.” God says, continues, boastfully.
And then he didn’t say anything else for a couple of minutes.
“Have you noticed all those nests out at the farm?”
“Yeah. Oh my gosh. All the mothers are sitting on them. How do they know what to do? There’s one that has made some kind of mud nest in the porch up high. And then there is that other one way back in the middle of that folded up old rug hanging over the horse stall. There’s blue bird in the little house down by the road. God, the birds are so tiny. We constantly disturbed them this weekend, moving stuff around. The mother’s go out, flit about, come back. I just don’t know how they manage. How can they keep the eggs warm and still eat. One of them we really scared. She almost beat herself up against the screen door. I was afraid she would leave her nest…”
I stop my thinking talk because I can feel God smiling.
”Janet, was she back the next morning?”
In my heart, I nod ‘yes’ and in pours those words of His Son.
“I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.”
“Enjoy this time in your life, Janet, when you are amazed at babies, all the ones I am showing to you. I like that you are thinking that.”
My mind goes to the little tiny hands of pink and brown and black babies I have seen in posts on Facebook. I think about Jake’s and John’s and Josh’s friends who are having babes. I think about the little tiny eggs in nests that I am going to watch at a respectful distance next weekend, in anticipation of baby bird chirps.”
“One more thing,” God says, smiling into my heart, “I love you Janet. More than you can imagine. Just think about how much you love your sons. I love you more than that. Seriously.”
I think to myself, that is a lot. Yes, truly more than I can imagine.
