Comfort

The other night my Clayton snuggled next to me on the couch and I kissed his head and just enjoyed that sweet peaceful moment. He's a strange one, that boy. He's a sweet heart and a fighter of bad guys. He loves sticks and swords and running. The thing that I've always thought strange though is that when he is hurt by accident, either by a misplaced blow of his stick that bounces back and whacks him, or a mistimed turn of the foot that sends him sprawling, he takes a breath to scream and in that time before he gets to that next breath if you try to comfort him you will be pummeled by little fists. In his hurt he just starts swinging. His little fists do not hurt that much but he is not ready to receive comfort. As a mother I want to run to him and pick him up and hold him, it goes against the fibers in my body to stand there and watch for the moment when he is ready to be comforted, but I'm learning.

As I was dwelling on these thoughts the other night I realized that I have often done the very same things to my Heavenly Father. How many times have I fallen and been hurt and then pummeled my little fists into the chest of the one who is waiting to wipe the tears from my eyes? In my hurt I just start swinging. Then I stand there accusing Him of not being near in my need, not comforting my hurt! Oh, the arrogance of me!

Child, I will not force my arms around you to hold you when you are not ready, but I am standing right here waiting anxiously for that moment when you will most need and accept my comfort.

Maybe my Clayton is not so strange after all.

Isaiah 40:11
He tends his flock like a shepherd;
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young.

Isaiah 66: 13
As a mother comforts her child,
so will I comfort you