Written when I was a Professor at Nyack College, 2002

 

These days, the morning greeting in our home is, “Did Josiah poop?” That’s because ever since our daughter and her baby suddenly moved into our apartment last September, the baby has completely captured the attention of my wife and me. Josiah is now five months old, but because he was born with underdeveloped lungs, he has been a constant subject of prayer for both our daughter’s family and ours. He is slow in various areas of development, and especially has difficulty having bowel movements. Sometimes he goes more than a week without one, and when we can no longer bear watching him struggle in discomfort, his father gives him an enema to help him go. I often think it would be better if I were the one suffering instead; watching a baby who cannot speak groan and cry in discomfort is truly heartbreaking and painful.

 

Perhaps for that reason, everything about Josiah has taken hold of our hearts. Living in a small apartment, it feels as though we can see every little movement he makes in the next room. Even while sleeping, our attention is fixed on him—we feel as if we can hear his soft, snuffling breaths. And when he cries, we wake up along with our daughter and son‑in‑law. Maybe it’s because he’s our first grandchild, but it’s amazing how we feel a special love and interest that we never even felt when raising our own children. Even our daughter, who used to be so particular about cleanliness, has changed a great deal while caring for Josiah. Everything that comes from a baby’s body now seems nothing but lovable. As we care for our grandchild, we are slowly beginning to understand what love really is. Each small change—Josiah learning to hold up his head, the faint smile that appeared after weeks of not knowing how to smile, the moment he managed to roll over on his own—each one is a major event that makes us cheer with delight.

 

Caring for Josiah has helped me understand a little of God’s heart. Especially the Bible verses that I once passed over with a simple “I suppose that’s how it is” now strike my heart with clarity. Through the prophet Isaiah, God speaks of His love for us:

 

And through the psalmist, God tells us that He searches us and knows us—He knows when we sit and when we rise; He perceives our thoughts from afar; He discerns our going out and lying down; He is familiar with all our ways; before a word is on our tongue, He knows it completely (Psalm 139:1–5).

This God who watches over us and knows us explains why He loves us with the heart of a mother for her nursing child. It is because He formed our inward parts and knit us together in our mother’s womb—fearfully and wonderfully made. When we were woven together in secret, in the depths of the earth, our unformed body was not hidden from Him. Before any of our days came to be, He saw us. Because of this, God loves us as a mother loves her nursing infant—He does not hide His eyes from our weaknesses or our flaws; rather, He grieves over them, rejoices over our little progress, and celebrates every little step we take.

 

Yes, God’s heart leans especially toward His weak children. Only those who have raised a suffering child can truly understand this love. The God who observes every detail of our lives is not a God who condemns us, but a God who loves us all the more because of our weakness. How great must His love be that He sent His only Son to bear our frailty? I thank God for giving us Josiah, through whom we have come to understand, even a little, God’s tender and aching heart.