the author of love

Today I read through some old emails that I wrote to a friend when I first typed out the words “I’m pregnant” (followed by lots of other colorful words as well). I knew that she was the perfect person to tell, she was far away in another country and would pray for me the minute she laid eyes on my desperate email. and then she would smile and freak out with me, and pray some more. Reading our email thread confirms that this is exactly what she did, and she also reminded me of a truth that I still hold onto in my deepest place in my heart of hearts : God’s love for his children is like an expectant mother.

At first I was too anxious and distraught to really comprehend those words that I read, but I knew them to be true. Today, I know them so much more than I ever thought possible, and he’s not even here yet. As I sit here my belly is making rapid movements that I can see from the outside, and I know my son is doing a little happy dance or a “why won’t you let me out yet so I can meet my wicked cool parents already?” dance. personally, I like the think it’s the latter, but that’s just me. my touch already soothes him, my heart beat is his lullaby and my voice is what he longs to hear. he is cared for and is not lacking as he continues to grow inside me. And to think that someday he will be free and make his own decisions, and someday not need me (as much) as ge does now. I can’t imagine the day he gets his heart broken or has his first real medical emergency, or decides to pack up his little cheap car and drive off to follow his dreams. I’ll have to chose to let him, and love him unconditionally through all his mistakes. I can tell him I can relate to his pain from rejection, his experimental phases of partying and his joy of finding love for the first time but he might not listen. And then I think of how I will suffer through labor for him to have life, and that he’ll be worth it, worth every minute of it.

I don’t take the time to think of how this relates to God’s love for His people enough, specifically for myself. He created me, carried me through my development and growth, and let me be free in Him. He told me He could relate to my sufferings and happiness and sometimes I didn’t and still don’t believe Him. He listens yet sometimes I don’t want to talk. I’m stubborn and self centered and immature and He’s still crazy about me. Madly in love with ME. He labored over my freedom, and chose death to take my place. He loves me more than I can comprehend, more than I could ever possibly love my own child.

I say all this to say that I need to be reminded and think about love coming from the author and creator of love, the one who loves me and all my imperfections. And how right now, as I carry this child within my womb I can be reminded of how my own expectancy is a metaphor and representation of Gods undying love for His people, even me.


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