How Great the Father's Love!
I overheard a young mother recounting her nighttime ritual of laying
her head on her pillow and asking herself, "Did I love my family enough
today? If something happens to me tonight will they know exactly how
much I loved them?"
As an "older and wiser" woman -- and more skeptical and a bit jaded, I
suppose -- my first instinct was to laugh: "Well, of course you didn't
love them enough! How silly!" Jesus conceded that though we are
imperfect parents (He literally called us "evil"!) we still do the best
we know how! (Luke 6:11-13) Chances are, I did NOT love my family
enough today or on any day.
Her question, however, haunted me. I continued to turn it over again
and again in my mind. The question seemed a bit less daunting and a lot
less accusing if I rephrased it: "Could I love my children more, could
I love my children better, tomorrow?"
Well, Lord willing, I will be given tomorrow with my family. And yes, I
will try to love them more completely tomorrow. However, none of us is
promised tomorrow for our families or ourselves.
I have wept with mothers who have kissed tiny foreheads for the last
time to send them to "The Land Where There Is No Tomorrow." I have
prayed and pleaded with mothers whose children have been precariously
close to the edge of "The Land Where There Is No Tomorrow." Those women know what it is to lay their heads down at night and ask, "Did I love them enough ...?"
My husband and I have tangoed around the line of calling it quits on
"happily ever after." With our new resolve for our marriage, I am
painfully aware of how fragile a marriage can be. I am fully aware of
his choice to be here. I am intentional about daily letting him know
that I appreciate his choice and all that he is to our family.
Thankfully, I have not faced the horrific loss of one of my children.
But, I think I have failed to be intentional about letting them know
how thankful I am for them, as well.
The old apostle John, near the end of his life, reminded us, "How great
is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called
children of God! And that is what we are!" (1 John 3:1) My loving
Father has LAVISHED His love on me. Surely, that lavished love should
run over and splash on my family.
One small thing I am realizing more and more is that as my children
grow, the frequent opportunity to touch or hug them is diminishing. I
don't lift them in and out of car seats or high chairs any more. I
don't help them in and out of the bathtub, wipe their faces, or even
brush their hair for them any more. They are no longer at an arm's
distance or underfoot all day, so I must be intentional about
meaningful touch for my children. I know that my arms ache when my
husband is not in town to hug and touch me. My children need touch and love even more!
I also realize that sometimes I really have to try to listen carefully
to what my children say. I am frequently guilty of multi-tasking which,
I've come to realize, means doing several things poorly at the same
time. It really doesn't take very long to sit, look into their eyes,
and really hear what they are saying -- and sometimes, if I am really
listening, I can even hear what they aren't saying. I think about how
much it means to me when someone has obviously heard what I said and
then later asks me about it. I want my children to know they are
valuable enough to get my full attention!
Another thing that I've realized that means a lot to my kids is to
simply sit together and hang around together. Of course, the TV should
be off for this -- although it's also a good idea to know what they're
watching and talk to them about it. My kids like for me to talk to them
about my day, as well as listen to them about theirs. We dream and
scheme, hope and plan.
Meaningful touch, intentional listening, and being together are not
huge undertakings. They take a very little amount of time -- my kids
really like to limit how much time they hang out with me anyway -- and
they require no money at all! I just have to be intentional about doing
those things.
And tonight I will wonder, "Could I love them more tomorrow?"
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(c) 2006 Sarah Stirman