When I am frustrated with Patrick in those difficult times, I am reminded of and wince at the unending frustration I surely cause my heavenly father on a daily- no, hourly... minutely? (is that a word?) basis.
I will probably watch Patrick injure his finger for the 15th time tomorrow, since he seems determined to disprove my theory that he is, in fact, not strong enough to karate chop the kitchen table in half. At least, that's what I assume he is trying to do, as he is still unable to relay the inner workings of his mind to the rest of us. And I will feel a twinge in my own hand, knowing the pain he must be feeling as he looks up at me with those big, confused eyes as if to say, "Mom, how could you let me do this to myself? Make it better!" despite my half-a-dozen warnings of this exact outcome. But I won't wrap my child up in foam padding and tie him to a chair where he would be nice and safe, because this would teach him nothing, and also probably lead to a severely underdeveloped adult at some point in the future. Instead, I will continue to lovingly warn him of approaching dangers and pray that he heeds my advice. And as I do so, I hear a voice from above reminding me that I, too, must learn the hard way occasionally, even if it takes 15 times or 100. And God's seemingly negligent silence does not mean that He does not love me. It simply means that I still have lots of growing to do, and my Daddy is patiently waiting until I finally figure out that maybe, just maybe, He knows best.
When Olivia cries those terrible cries that are capable of sending every mommy on the block into instinctual action, I scoop her up and do my best to make all wrongs right again. Sometimes I know exactly what she wants or needs, and other times, I wish beyond explanation that this little creature could talk. Sometimes, she gets so worked up that she clenches her eyes shut and seems to refuse to acknowledge that I am even present. And in those times, I am given a beautiful picture of the hand that holds me so tightly. I know that every storm I face, even this entire life, is nothing more than a disappearing vapor, and my Creator is waiting for me on the other side. He always knows exactly what I need. Even when I am incapable of expressing my pain and frustration to anyone else, or even understanding it myself, He knows all of me, inside and out, and He is eager to meet my needs. Even when I am so caught up in a moment of pure, selfish anguish, and I am so convinced that the world is ending that my eyes, too, are clenched shut, my Maker is right there, holding me, waiting for my anxiety and fear to pass and my eyes to open long enough to see that all is well with my soul.
And, as I discover that my love for these two precious souls is, in fact, capable of growing even more with each new day, I am beginning to grasp the love of my Father in a way that I now believe a human being is not capable of understanding until they are a parent. Words cannot describe the amount of love and protection and pride I feel for these amazing gifts God has given me. And I just about fall over when I realize and think about the fact that this love I feel for my children is nothing more than a pathetic attempt at mere tolerance compared to the LOVE that the God of the universe has for me.
"For God so loved [YOU] that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life." John 3:16
