The ache comes...slowly, then building, building, building. Like waves crashing, beating against the shore. What do we do? What do we say when our best is not enough? When our greatest efforts to protect and love cannot keep the storm at bay?
"Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you" (Psalm 63:3).
I kissed his sweet cheek the other day, praying over him the promises of God. May you be loved and cherished, knowing how precious you are to the Most High God. As I hear of his departure, I whisper the same prayer, trusting that he and his chubby little brother will know this love that is better than life.
I cannot weather the storms he is about to face for him. I can, however, hand him to the One who calms the storms with a word of spoken power and authority. I cannot stand in the way of the danger that might come his way, but I can release him to the One whose body broke for all mankind. I cannot sing over him at night when he struggles to fall asleep, but I can entrust him to the cradling arms of the One who "will rejoice over [him] with singing," the One who "takes great delight in [him]" (Zephaniah 3:17).
I did not look for this passionate fervor that God breathed into my bones. Rather, it found me. Days like today only serve to throw gasoline on the fire, no matter how much I wish it could be extinguished with the ache. I know this One whose love is better than life, though, and I know of little ones who need such a love. I press on, then, as one driven by the fury of a forest-fire-sized passion.
What do we do when our greatest efforts to love and protect are not enough? We love and protect anyway, because we have been called by the One who loves bigger and protects better than we ever could.