So sweet is the sounds as it filters through the chambers pulling softly in the mind of a Father his child’s need, her soft cry slices effortlessly through the congestion of a never ending buzz, created in the life we have so casually called our home. This constant state of endless discourse, blaring televisions, and conversations directed not necessarily towards anyone, but more to the self-satisfying acknowledgement of self, hold’s no barrier to the love driven calls of His child in need.
The sound of her voice cuts through the mayhem with such clarity, it is in but a fraction of a moment, when her cry has but just begun, that an immediate response is not only initiated, but can hardly be ignored.
A Father can no less turn from the beckoning cries of His child then He can shut off His face from life itself. Resting within the sounds of such a sweet voice, is the essence of everything He loves about her, the very music of her mouth, the gentle tones filling sonnet’s of her soul’s music, even laced in the cries of her hunger.
A father has but a few moments in life where He has opportunity to not only hear someone He love’s, who absolutely and completely love’s Him call out, but becomes the only instrument able to fulfill that need.
The baby needs a bottle.
As the night progresses from the day, and a tired mother rests her head, but for a moment, being she was oh so busy all day long, then fall’s the task upon the hand’s of the father to give the baby that bottle she needs later in the evening. He never turns away from the privilege such a wonderful gift grants, making ever so much more a layer of garden fresh pedals round His heart. For it is in this service that health is most certainly delivered unto him.
With beckoning eyes, and the sweetest spirit, the longing cheeks of a beautiful baby glance up as He reaches down to take her from the crib. Lifted gently up from earth into the realm of the air, the young spirit envelopes her trust in the arms of the Father in receivership of that love and support those infinitely strong arms provide. Floating freely so are the earliest thoughts, coinciding perfectly with similar accounts, many have shared at the end of life’s toils. Is she but a moment flying?
Warm is still the place she just moments earlier rested her most precious head in quiet slumber. But warmer still is the bosom of acceptance her loving life clings to with tender hands and strong fingers. A scent of babies breath fills the air as Father breathe’s in every fragrant that bring’s needed healing to his hard worked and not so tired soul. Such sweet smell fills the essence of his being, making His heart long to take such pure perfection in his waiting hand’s.
So can also the Father receive healing? As he takes her and wraps His arm’s around, for as the young child lies against His chest is it not comprehensible that both Father and child benefit? I know from experience they do.
Soft be the beautiful hands as they reach up to the Father, His own eager hands reaching as well to her in response to her cries. For He does not solicit the cry, but He never backs away, from her need’s that she has, He will so gladly meet.
She knows His strong safe grip all to well, as she melts into His hold, with out fear or resolve, reaching up then grabbing tightly she seems to melt into his heart. Immediate her crying stops to be replaced by love’s sweet smile, and how contagious it is, as it’s duplicate erupts across the Father’s face.
Is this how it is when any a child calls to the Father?
And while I am sure, I can certainly not speak for all father’s, there is one that I can speak with the greatest of confidence, knowing Him intimately, for He abides in me, and I in Him. For as the Father has felt, and knowing it is good, and further understanding all good things come from Him, then all doubt passes away as I conclude; so does also the Father feel when His son cries out.
But the Father knows the need of the child even before the need is realized by the child herself. For the bottle is waiting, ready for but the call, given freely after only but a moment’s preparation. The work for it’s creation set down long before the need ever arises, would in no way reduce the gift of need being met.
Does He mind giving to her that which she needs, I say no? Is that not what He has worked for, is that not what He has lived for? Is it not what He would die for? Gladly!
But further I would offer, the greatest pleasure is not found in getting the gift of life and bringing it to her, the greater pleasure is not even stopping the crying, or the answer to the young prayer of the child, the greatest pleasure lies within the seeing such a product of pure love, giving and receiving both at the same time love in the bottle of life, in the eyes.
Seeing the eyes of the child as she looks up into the loving eyes of the Father. The eye’s, the lamps to the soul.
He sees the love, undeniable satisfaction, that coupled with safety and thankfulness, blended with heart wrenching joy, radiating from the eyes of His little child as she looks into His own, grants a complete and final satisfaction. If but a moment, to the utter and complete necessity of Him doing exactly what He need’s to do, at this very moment, and no other.
It would be impossible for a Father not to tear from the sweet sounds of gentle satisfaction her soft voice makes as she drinks. I know because impossible it was for me.
Soft as she lies,
her warm chest against mine,
a Father can feel that heart beating
young babies breath so divine.
And try as you will,
a tear but longing to hold,
can never Father’s head turn aside
away from her crying truth be it told.
Her sweet eyes call Him out,
His ear so but longs to stay
wanting, needing but to give
away child’s hunger in such a day.
Love is only the small charge,
a good Father ask’s in His pay
glorious flower in passing wake
beauties blossom His heart’s lay.
So is it but Glorious Father
as I come pleading to You
and call to Your bosom
with my own tears silent hope anew.
This young child reaching up
for his Father will but see
the need in his calling
though all chaos this world might be.
Lift me up dear Jesus
so my spirit would but fly
and take me into Your arms
holding tight as I might try.
You so loving bring me in
to your bosom for my need
and with loving eyes do you caress
loving prayers my tongue’s plead.
No need is to great,
no want goes unheard
from heaven’s rest’s loving Father
already granted in His word.
For there I sit fondly,
a small child do I lay
resting quietly on Fathers shoulder
in the warmth there I stay.
So is it for one Father,
as he hold his child so close
knowing he in turn receives
love abounds, a gift for Him the most.
By Peter Colla
“Dear Lord Jesus, help me call to You Father, You who washed me clean, give me the strength to reach up, and the wisdom to know when I am in Your arms.”