During our quiet time on Saturday morning, I sat in front of one of the many gas fireplaces our cabin had to offer. We were up in the mountains and it was gray, rainy and cold. I studied a few of the verses in Philippians. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. I have a difficult time with this one. I'm a worry wart by nature. Anxious might as well be my middle name. And right now I'm particularly uneasy about a myriad of things including but not limited to adoption, moving (did I mention we're going to move to a house a little closer to the church?), a friend, etcetera, etcetera, etcetra. As I sat and watched the flames of the fire I remembered something.
The last night that we were in Oregon, just as I opened the door to the room we were sharing with our toddler, one of Garrett's cousins went running past and the commotion woke my son up. He'd gone to bed before us and the noise, coupled with waking in an unfamiliar room, scared him. Usually if Garrett wakes up at night, Troy goes to lay him back down. For some reason he will go immediately back to sleep if Troy is the one who goes into his room. If I go in, he clings to me like a baby gorilla and sobs mournfully if I try to pry myself from his vice grip. It's just easier to have Troy do it. But Troy was in the bathroom and I was standing two feet away so I walked over to him and tried to lay him back down. He cried and cried and wouldn't loosen his fingers from my pajama top. I held him and walked to the bed. I laid down and Garrett nestled in tight, completely calm and completely quiet. He wanted, desperately, to stay with me. My son is rarely still and cuddling is even more rare. I cherished the moment as I waited for Troy to finish brushing his teeth. Garrett was anxious--afraid, even--but the second that he knew I was there, his fears vanished. I would protect him. I would love him. I would bring peace.
As I gazed at that fire I thought about how much more my God loves me than I love my son. His capacity to love is infinitely greater than my own. And with my son curled tightly into my side, his soft hair tickling my chin, his sweet breath slowly exhaling onto my neck, I delighted in my ability to calm him. How much more does my heavenly Father rejoice when I come to him, lay my anxiety at his feet, and fold tightly into his protective arms?