Lessons from an Infant

Ps. 131 has been an important part of my life in the last five years. It’s short and easy to remember, and it has been a rock for me. It is basically an affirmation of the writer’s trust in the Father, and an exhortation to the reader to do the same. It describes this trust as a “child with its mother,” giving us the obvious picture of a person who is altogether helpless and needy.

                In the last few days I have held someone like this: a tiny, brand-new baby boy. And as I have held him for long hours into the night, my mind has had the opportunity to find some rest in the lessons learned in simply sitting still with a newborn in my arms. I’d like to share some of them with you.

Beauty Comes to Life

                Gen. 1 tells us of the nothingness and the darkness of the universe before the Creation. Yet the Creator was just as real then as he is now. So also the womb is a place of darkness, and yet, it is not empty. Something is being formed within its confines—therein something is, though it is not.

                And then, light! And with the coming of the light is life.

And not just “life.” Out of the darkness of the womb, beauty comes to life. Out of nothing, beauty: a glorious, precious, uniquely created being!

Newness

                Indeed, the pangs of birth are often violent, and that has been so true in this case. We were in the midst of planning and worrying as we fumbled for solutions for a young mother once her child arrives, and for a baby boy who would need love and healing from his very first breath.

                But when he came, it changed everything. The menace of past ills and future trials disappeared. All that began to matter—all that really does matter—was the newness of life we were all experiencing.

Newness has such an intense, creative power; each time something new arrives, all creation and its Maker say together, “It is good.” Peace dwells in the newness of life. It brings warmth, it brings joy, and it brings unity and grace together in great measure.

                This little boy cannot know how much of a peacemaker he has been for all of us.

Created for Community

                This child has been brought forth in community; it is impossible to enter life without the aid of another. So also it is impossible to continue life alone. This is how we know that our Maker himself is a communing Person; this is how we know we may have fellowship with him.

Holding

                As I sat with him on my lap in front of me, he stretched out his tiny arm and took my finger with his whole hand. When he does this, he is not holding onto me so much as I am holding onto him. There is no real strength in his fingers and his arms to maintain a grasp. But with little effort, I can return his clinging with a firm but gentle grip. In his weakness he holds onto me, but I am the one who holds his tiny hand, who can, with just a simple squeeze, keep his hand connected to mine. Moreover, I am holding his entire body, and so I am the very power that enables him to lift up his hand to mine.  So it is with our Father.

Beyond Comprehension

                This baby cannot know, even if he wished to, what great measures of loving sacrifice were taken to bring him into the world. He cannot comprehend all that has been done to bring him into life. It follows, then, that just as he cannot know the plans we had for him before his birth, he cannot understand the plans and purposes we have for his future.

                Oh, how great a joy, that our eternal Father would give us this picture, of knowing how far we are from truly knowing about his divine nature, his eternally holy “otherness,” and yet show us that he is close, indeed, close enough to touch us, hold us, and speak.

Hearing the Voice

                These last days—and for many days before his birth—we have prayed and sang and spoken truth over him and to him, out loud, though he cannot understand it. This is our expression of love, so that he may grow to know our voices personally, and to trust the words he hears us speak.

                So it is with our heavenly Father, who speaks to us from eternity past, and would speak to us in the present, yes, even at this very moment, though he knows we cannot understand him yet. But what a great joy to know that this little boy will grow! He will grow in his abilities to sense and to feel and to understand, so long as he is in community and intimacy with those who love him. Oh, if only we would seek such intimacy and communion with our Father, our Maker, so that we may grow into a fuller knowledge of his nature and be satisfied with his presence! How then, can we do this?

Rest

                And so I come again to Ps. 131. It is a divine irony that our original state of life is the clearest picture of how we ought to live all of our lives: on the day of our birth, when the fullness of the newness of life was in us, we rested in the arms of another, and we were entirely unable: unable to see, unable to feed ourselves, unable to find the strength to take hold of someone else. Oh, what a great and gracious mystery, for if we rest in our Father as this little one now rests in my arms, we would grow, day by day, into a profound knowledge of the loving nature of our King, who accepts us as dear children, and by his own child allows us to cry, “Abba, Father.”

-Ryan