“He shall call upon me, and I will answer him;” Psalm 91:15a
He didn’t ask me to tuck him in last night.
I heard the click of his light and waited for the invitation. Silence. Why wasn’t my Eli calling for me?
Maybe he’s praying, or stretching, or reading with a book light? Was something wrong?!
I’ll tell you what’s wrong. My boy is growing up. And I’m not ready.
I crept out of bed and peeked into his room. He looked longer, his jaw a bit wider, with those man-boy feet (now bigger than mine) sticking out from under his Star Wars blanket,
“Are you okay? You didn’t call me to ‘Kentucky’ you in…”
He opened his eyes, cracking a smile. Had he lost all his baby teeth?
“Oh, my goodness! You’re freaking out, I just thought it was too late to call you.” He laughed. Apparently, my mama-meltdown was hilarious.
But something squeezed at my heart, “Never. It’s never too late. You can always call me!”
And just like that, I realized my longing to be understood was much like my Heavenly Father’s. How many times had he sung the same ancient truth over my life … “It’s never too late, you can always call on me.”
“The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer you; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I” (Psalm 145:18 NIV).
Being a mother reminds me I’m made in the image of God. Although the love I feel for my kiddos is a teeny glimpse of His love for us, there’s nothing on earth more consuming and eternal than God himself. It’s that big. At times, when I’m desperate for my son to hear my words, God confirms he feels the same way about me. His Spirit pleads, “Why aren’t you calling on me, daughter?”
He’s listening at the door of my heart while I sit in the dark, cold and unsure. Always present, but desiring me to utter his name, to invite him to turn on the light. But, I make excuses … I’ve waited too long … my need is too great, or—the most dangerous … my need is too small.
What areas of your life do you hold back from God’s loving comfort? In what space do you prefer him not to come? Where have you cuddled under the lie, “My longing is too insignificant for him to care?” Push these things aside. They’re smothering your access to child-like faith. All we need to do is, cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.”
P.S. I reserve the right to tuck my “babies” into bed as long as they live under my roof. I’m fairly certain it’s in the Constitution somewhere…or a Dr. Suess book. Either way.
by Jenna Masters