Monday, June 21, 2010

The Arms of the Father

Yesterday, while CJ and I read and sipped mediocre coffee at a depressingly empty coffee shop, I looked out the window to see a father walking with his daughter in his arms. She was about two, fast asleep, head and chubby arms resting on his broad shoulders, face flushed pink and blond ringlets damp from the heat. She was completely, totally at rest, trusting herself to the arms of the man she loved best, a picture of perfect peace.

In a strange way, I envied her. I myself felt far from at rest, worn out from a summer semester that had begun as soon as the spring semester had ended, stressed about a new part-time job I'd taken on for the rest of the summer, tired of dealing with the sin and struggles that have seemed my constant companions these past few years. I was tired, and I needed a rest far deeper than any cup of coffee or quiet afternoon could provide.

A few minutes later, I opened up my Bible to the place I'd left off the day before and found myself reading the following verse: "See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God" (I John 3:1a). I thought again of the little girl and her father, and a deep urge stirred inside of me to be carried, to be held, to stop trying so hard and to simply let my Father carry me safely through the heat while I rest.

1 comment:

Cortney Matz said...

Beautifully written, Abby.