It’s early (4am) and I’ve been up for an hour with Little. I’ve used all the tools in my mothering tool belt to care for her: breastmilk, nasal aspirator, Tylenol, diaper change, snuggles, bounces, rocking, shhhhhhing, and finally waking her Daddy.
As I sit now in a dimly lit nursery, watching my baby watch me as she drifts off to sleep, I am overcome by the Holy Spirit. And I hear one thing:
I mean no judgement here, but when I think of people that don’t believe in God, I’m at a loss for words.
How can you look at your baby’s face, soft, sweet, perfect, and pure, and say there isn’t a God?
How can you watch a bird soar high above you, defying gravity, and say there isn’t a God?
How can you hear a child’s laugh, and still say there isn’t a God?
How can you see a sunset, and say there isn’t a God?
How can you experience moments of pure (there’s that word again!) contentment, and say there isn’t a God?
How can you find comfort in loneliness and say there isn’t a God.
TThere is only one answer to all of those questions (and any other you can think of…)