To know what it means to be held.

I held a two week old baby in my arms for an extended amount of time recently.  I cradled his swaddled body in the crook of my left arm while my other arm pulled him up close to my body. Without thinking, I rhythmically patted his bottom.  I could feel his belly expand and release as he breathed in and out. The sweet scent of his skin drifting into my nose as I bent my face to his head. I inhaled deeply.  I sensed my own body releasing tension and finding a rhythm with his restfulness.  He slept in the comfort and safety of being held.  

I remember holding my own daughters in moments similar to this. After a midnight feeding, I would wrap them in a plush swaddle and settle into the rocking chair in the corner of their room.  Sinking into the cushions and using one foot to start the rhythmic rocking.  Back and forth. Back and forth. Keeping the tempo with their eyes locked on mine until their eyelids fell shut, leaving just their lashes in view.  My heart would fill with delight that this darling little girl belonged to me.  That she trusted me to provide for her needs, to care for her with tenderness, and to hold her into my arms whenever she needed comfort or rest. 

Let them come to Me.

But Jesus said, “Let the children come to me.  Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.”  Matthew 19:14 NLT

Holding this newborn baby and reflecting back on what it was like to care for my daughters as babies, I was reminded that God desires for us to come to Him as a child.  In the Greek, another translation for the word “child” would even be infant.  An infant who is completely dependent on the care of another.  One who knows no other source of comfort, protection, provision or love.  

God reminded me that this is the way He receives me.  Just as I had no hesitation in scooping up this precious, newborn baby into my arms to be held, God won’t hesitate to hold me.  I picture Him delighting in me in the same way that I could delight in the newborn in my own arms.  How could I not find rest in His arms? And how could He not adore me as one of His own daughters?

Realistically though, in addition to these beautiful, peaceful, wondrous moments of caring for an infant are also times of incessant crying, even screaming.  Those times when an infant is flailing about and it seems like no matter what you do, they continue to be inconsolable.  You try all the tricks that the baby books and your momma friends have shared with you. The bouncy seat that vibrates and plays quiet instrumental music is unsuccessful.  You consider trying the swing but you already know that she hates that thing. Instead you choose white noise while simultaneously bouncing and shushing her.  It helps…… for a short time.  Then the crying returns. 

Your last ditch effort is to step outside for a breath of fresh air and a change of scenery.  She finally quiets, as you hold her and she looks towards the light sky that is changing to dark.  Her eyes wide with the wonder of it all and she finds contentment being held in this new space.

Surrendering in adulthood

Now, as an adult, in moments where I find myself flailing about in this world, He takes me into His arms.  When I’m crying out with grief over numerous, painful losses. Maybe I’m even inconsolable, angry that there is still so much injustice on this earth.  I’m overwhelmed by the hostility in controversial conversations online or by news of natural disasters that are wreaking havoc on impoverished countries. I’m trying my own white noises of distraction to tune out all the voices but that doesn’t seem to be working. Instead, I return to the posture of a needy infant and allow Him to wrap me up again. Surrendering to Him, Jesus carries me to a new place and provides a different perspective and I’m finally able to quiet.  

In His arms, I’m restless no more.

In His eyes, I’m adored by simply being His daughter.

With His touch, I feel comforted in the middle of grief.

With His strength, the weight of my worry is lighter.

From His view, a new breath of hope that life won’t always be this hard. 

Being held.

We’re just a few months past Christmas and I picture Mary in a similar posture, holding Jesus in the days after His birth. The Savior of the world soothing her with His breathing in and out while at the same time, He has become utterly dependent on her to care for Him. He holds within Him the fullness of God but has surrendered to live out His days in the form of humanity. He has positioned himself to be cared for by the Father. Under the constraints of human parents. 

I imagine Jesus being as inconsolable as one of my daughters and Mary wondering if what had been promised to her was really true. Is this really the Son of God? So vulnerable, experiencing discomfort, crying to have His own needs met. Maybe this is part of what it means for Jesus to have experienced all that we have: from infancy into mature adulthood. He can relate to us through each age and stage. 

Jesus knew what it meant to be held. To surrender to the care of another. To rely fully on comfort from His Father.  Maybe this is a different picture of what it means to “let the children come to me.” When you find yourself in a place of grief, inconsolability, restlessness, discontent, and overwhelm, picture yourself surrendered into the arms of the Father who simply wants to wrap you up and hold you close, quieting you with His tender care.

You will be safe in His arms.