Baby Luca cries that heart wrenching pierce of a little soul in despair. It stabs my own as I jiggle him up and down against me, that continual parental dance. My grandson’s body melts into mine but the out of control cries and deep gasps for air continue.
“Here, let me try,” his daddy makes a cradle under him, and I reluctantly yield.
Luca is comforted by the solid familiarity. He knows His father.
“For unto us a Child is born, Unto us a Son is given; And the government will be upon His shoulder. And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:5; NKJV.
Through the immediate comfort of a father, I am stricken by how quickly I forget that I too know my Father. I recognize my own infantile thrashing about, kicking and screaming, demanding my way when all along a Father’s arms are outstretched, inviting.
The Everlasting Father nestled willingly against the chest of Joseph in submission to His Father’s will, the mystery of Deity visible to a wondering world.
“I and My Father are one.” Jn. 10:30; NKJV.
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