Stewart pulled my head back towards him and I again nuzzled my face into his neck. It was the second time putting him back in his bed (after Mike's third time). I just couldn't bear to see his sad, blue eyes look pitifully into mine, as if to say, "mama, I need you". So, I let him need me. After all, how many moments a day do I dedicate to spending with him...only him? He's the middle child, and an independent one. So, I let him need me.
Gently, every so often, I was able to raise my gaze to study him. I began thinking of how amazing it feels to be "that" for your child, to be able to calm him just because you are the parent. And I thought ahead to when I won't be able to be "that". When he will need something else from me.
I wondered why God doesn't do that for us. I mean, he doesn't come over and cradle us the way we do our newborns. He doesn't hold our hand and tuck us into sleeptime. He doesn't actually gather us up into his huge embrace when we need him. Why doesn't he let me need him in that way? Is it that we are supposed to need something else, something more tempered and mature?
I am built to need those things. As a child, I need.
I thought about how maybe he could do "that" for me. Maybe he could harness all his might and power and love just to meet those needs precisely as I envision it.
And, maybe, he does all those things for me. Maybe he delivers those things through others. Beyond the muck of humanity, the reality of darkness- that he could place himself in us in such a way so we can meet eachother's needs. That there's a little of God in us all, simply enough to pass around? What do you think? (post comment now)