Sitting Close

I’m sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of our bedroom, watching my little Estelle sleep soundly. My tea is still hot, and I can’t help but sit here, welled up with all of my love for her. The bassinet is an arm’s length away, but somehow feels too far. We spend our days all wrapped up in each other. Sometimes I miss being able to run around this house with two free hands or sleep eight hours straight, but I wouldn’t trade this version of today for any other.

I’ve been holding her extra close these past twelve hours after her two-month shots, ready to give her any ounce of comfort she might need.

I think to myself, for just a minute, that I couldn’t possibly love her any more than I do in this moment. There is nothing she could ever do—or fail to do—that could change this love. It feels like I might sit in this posture forever, just close enough should she ever need a thing. I hope my love, my arms, always feel this close to her.

I begin my quiet time in this chair thinking all of these things about Estelle, and it changes the way I talk to God today. This love teaches me something about Love that I already know, but today I need this truth deep in my bones. So I’m doing a lot of remembering, hoping this remembering becomes belief that I live from rather than something I simply remember.

Maybe God, too, delights most in:

Being everything I need, whenever and wherever I need it.

All of the comforting, the loving, the never leaving.

Simply being close to me.

Because this is true for Estelle:

She needs to do nothing and earn nothing to receive my love. There’s nothing she could ever do—or not do—that would make me withdraw this love or move farther than an arm’s length away, always close enough to catch her. I need her to do nothing more than simply be my child.

She is exactly who I would have her be—perfect in every way. I couldn’t love her more if she tried.

She is my child, after all.

So let me not begin my time with God consumed by whether I could be doing more or being more. May being loved by Him be the destination today.

I spend so much time talking to God about my should-be, could-have, and would-haves. But I am wasting time. We are all wasting time. Instead, God and I spend these thirty minutes all wrapped up in each other. He comforts me. He counsels me. I let His love fill me right back up, reminding me who I am all over again. When I get up from this spot, there’s nothing more I need to be or achieve. I’ve already reached the mountaintop. I’ve already touched heaven today.

I almost never find God when I search for Him through the lens of my doing, being, and earning. Instead, I sit still, forget that I am anything other than His child. On my best days I forget me altogether. I choose to believe these arms, this Love, are always there, just close enough should I ever need a thing.

He holds me close in a way that allows me to live from a different place—more love, more forgiveness, and more grace to give.

After all, I am His child.