Another Year Wasted
You guys, I’m sitting in bed in the dark close to midnight and typing this by the light of our hall closet. So you’re getting this post unedited, unretouched, unfiltered.
My ten year old is curled up next to me because we have this deal on Wednesday nights where he’s allowed to hang in our bed and Peter spends that time chatting with our other son in his room. And they fall asleep next to us and it’s the most precious thing to know that no matter how big your kiddos get, they still consider it their special night – the night they get to hang out with us and fall asleep next to us.
And they never let us forget it – how Wednesday nights are their nights to “chat” and “sleep by you, mama.”
And I have Chris Tomlin’s Song – Good Good Father – playing and you guys as I listen to my son softly snoring next to me and I’m so profoundly overwhelmed by how much I love him, how the best part of our family outing to the Star Wars movie BY FAR was watching the emotions that played across his face. And the hour or so we spent deconstructing it together and sharing what scared us and what we loved.
And all I can think here in the dark listening to my firstborn breathing – just listening to his breath – and laying my hand on his chest and feeling for myself how he inhales and exhales and how that is enough to explode me. To literally explode my heart right out of my body and I worry I’ll wake him up because of the sheer volume of all this love pouring out of me toward him. Just the mere fact that he is miraculously here, alive and brilliant and wonderful here next to me – how he doesn’t even need to be awake to blow my world apart.
And here in the dark you guys I am staggered by how this is just the TINIEST FRACTION of how our Father God loves him and me and YOU.
I don’t know what your Christmas looks like. I don’t know the ways this year has disappointed you. I don’t know your heartaches. I don’t know the devastating conversations you’ve had around dining room tables this year. I don’t know if you’re struggling to make your mortgage payments or your college loans or if you’re worried about layoffs come next year or debt or doubt or cancer or loss.
I don’t know if this feels like another year wasted.
I don’t know if you have a mother you’d want to lie next to and talk to in the dark. I don’t know if your father has disappointed you. Again and again and again. I don’t know.
But as I sit here in the dark one thing I know for sure, in my bones, is that our Heavenly Father – He’s a good, good Father.
It’s in our DNA – that we are loved by a Father who knows just what we need before we say a word.
He knows and then HE GIVES IT TO US.
Christmas is the proof of that. HE LOVED US SO MUCH HE GAVE US HIMSELF.
Precious friend, if there’s one gift I could give you it would be the assurance that you are loved in ways that are so undeniable “I can hardly speak.”
I can hardly put it into words. I can only tell you, from one mother to another – that every devastatingly, beautiful emotion you feel for your kiddos, that’s how God feels about you.
It’s who He is.
Just as much as it’s who you are.
Because we are created in His image.
He can’t not love you.
He’s a good, good Father. It’s who He is.
In the dark, on late nights and early mornings. He loves you. He would crumple Himself into our human DNA and move into your very neighborhood to come and tell you in person, face to face, how you are worth it. Worth leaving behind everything that He was entitled to – in order to come and make you believe it – how much He loves you.
That’s it. Late night thoughts from one mom to another. A mom who gets it wrong and messes up and snaps a hundred times a day. But still could write you a love story in the dead of night for each of these three kids.
Fast asleep without saying a word, I’m pleased with them.
He’s pleased with you. Period.
All you have to do is breathe in and out and He’s as besotted with you as I am with my son in the dead of the night. That he wants to be here next to me, more than anywhere else? It melts me.
Your Father God is a good, good Father and all you need to do is curl up next to Him and breathe in and out; you don’t even need to say anything. It’s enough and it’s the best and if it’s my favorite part of a day filled with gifts and blockbusters and all the razzmatazz the marketing world could cook up for us – if this moment right here, at midnight, this moment my son isn’t even aware of – if this is the best, the BIGGEST HIGHLIGHT Of my day – how much more must our Heavenly Father thrill when you come and curl up exhausted at the end of the year and just breathe in and out next to Him.
Nothing wasted with Him.
He’s a good, good Father.
It’s who He is.
He won’t yell or belittle or point out all your faults from this past year. No, man. No. He will call you by name and maybe wipe your hair out your eyes like I do for my daughter, and whisper as you fall asleep, “What took you so long?” And then He stays up to keep watch over you and just look at you and listen to you breathe.
Because that’s what good fathers do.