She walks by with a saucy
look and a sparkle in her eye. Her golden curls catch the late afternoon sun. She’s walking with purpose like she’s got somewhere important to go. She’s two, though. How important can it be? Certain
she’s got time for a kiss, I grab her and pull her close. Once she’s in
my arms and I know she can’t escape, I hold her chubby cheeks in my hands and
say, I love you so much, Ella. Her
response tugs at my heart. I know, she
simply says. I kiss her nose before sending her on her way.
I know is a common response when we tell Ella we love her, and every time I hear
those two words the sweetness of them makes me happy. She’s not being
presumptuous with our love nor is she being indifferent to our affection. She’s
simply speaking honest, unfiltered two year old words.
I know. I know that you love me.
There’s something wonderfully raw and strikingly sweet about my two year old’s response to her mother’s love.
In those simple words I hear a daughter who has
faith in me, who trusts me, who is secure in my love for her. I love her and she knows it. She doesn’t doubt it,
not even for a moment. One of the reasons I savor these
interactions is because I know that all too soon, with age and maturity, her response
will become more refined and more socially appropriate.
I wonder if, on some
level at least, her two year old response is the kind of response that we, as children, are supposed
to have with our Father when He speaks words of love to us.
I know. I know you love me, God. I don’t doubt your
love for one second. I’m secure in your goodness. I trust your faithfulness. I
have faith that your love will never fail. I know.
There are many reasons
why the Psalms so naturally stir our affections, but I believe that one of the
reasons is this: in King David we see a man who is utterly confident in His
Father’s love for him and we long for that kind of confidence. Yes, he speaks of His own love for God. Yes, he writes
about God’s glory and grace. Yes, he confesses his sin and need to be made
clean. In all these things we can relate. But one of the recurring themes of the
Psalms of David is this: the unfailing
love of the Lord.
Unfailing love.
I know. I know you love me. I know your love
will not fail.
God wants honesty and
transparency from His children. When we’re wrestling, we should tell him.
When we doubt his goodness and love for us, there’s nothing that should
keep us from speaking to Him with reverent transparency and sharing with Him
the ache of our heart. Just like King David and countless others before us we
can surely ask, Where are you, God? Why
is my heart bowed down? Do you love me?
And yet within a
relationship of honesty there’s something fitting about a child who knows—who really, truly, confidently knows—that
their parent loves them.
Because really, we don’t have to look any further than the Cross to see eternal words
etched in vivid crimson. I love you, my
child.
Then the beautiful
simplicity of a childlike response.
I know.
