A Mother's Heart

It was the Thursday before Easter, and as I was putting one of my, then little guys ,down to bed for the night, his body felt warm. I gave him some Tylenol, kissed him goodnight, and vowed to check on him before I went to bed. Later that night, before turning in, I put my lips to his forehead, and he was still pretty hot. I gave him another dose of Tylenol, and continued to dose him throughout the night and the next day. He seemed like he was doing ok until I went to check on him after he had napped much longer than usual. When I spoke his name his eyes opened, but he seemed out of sorts, and when I felt his head, it felt alarmingly hot. When I asked him a question he moaned and closed his eyes. My heartbeat quickened as I called a neighbor to come watch the other kids, called the clinic, and gathered my things to head to the pediatrician. With everything we needed in the car, and the car running, I picked him up, startled by the dead weight of his feverish body as he rode listlessly in my arms. The car ride seemed to take forever, and as I carried him, his temperature seemed to be climbing along with the elevator as it ascended to our floor. Upon arriving, we were immediately ushered into a room, and the doctor looked at him and went right to work. She hurried away and came back in with a team and an I.V. kit. By this time my son was still moaning and hot, but his eyes were wide open in fear. He was too out of it to talk, but his face said it all. The doctor, as she was searching for a vein in his leg, looked at me and said “things could go either way in the next 30 minutes.” As he lay there strapped to the table so that he wouldn’t fight the team, helpless to do a thing, knowing that I couldn’t rescue him, I bent down, with my face tilted evenly with his, and held his face, and filled his eyes with mine. I sang songs to him, I told him silly jokes, and talked about how much fun our Easter egg hunt was going to be. I laughed about how the hammer broke the last time we played “Don’t Break the Ice,” and how I love the way his eyes match his hair. Once the IV was in, and most of the team had gone, his fear seemed to lessen, and I cradled his face, and we waited. After 20 minutes or so he made a toddler joke and smiled, and my whole body started shaking, tears welled up in my eyes, and I laughed way harder than the joke was funny. The doctor let out a huge sigh of relief, and laughed, too, as the antibiotics had obviously found their mark.

And so, a few years later, when I invited Jesus to come into the memory of that room, where I lay being abused at the hand of my youth pastor, Jesus came, locked his eyes onto mine, hurried to my side, and held my face, filling my eyes with his. Jesus knew that I would know just what that meant, as his eyes poured love into me, and spoke of hope, things to look forward to in the future. I think Jesus knew that, because my abuse was at the hands of a man who was supposed to represent God, receiving comfort from God, the father, might be hard for me. And so he chose to speak directly to my mother’s heart that had ached and longed to comfort my son, with God’s heart that aches and longs to comfort us. In this fallen world where there are bacteria that invade and threaten little bodies, and peoples’ sinful choices that invade and threaten little souls, God is the perfect parent, with both a mother’s and a father’s heart, who longs to cradle and comfort his child. Isaiah 66:13 says “As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you,” and he has.