from Rebecca's blog

And the King will tell them,
I assure you, when you did it to
one of the least of these my brothers and sisters,
you were doing it to me!
Matthew 25:40

And I'm curious...


How does this look in your home? How do you actively seek ways to serve the least of these?

Rebecca offered this up as a challenge recently. I've been mulling it over for a few days now.

I remember very clearly that first day Isaac was in our lives. I was out of surgery, back in our room at St. Paul's, drugged and very uncomfortable. Heck, I was in pain. I was lying on my bed wondering when this little baby's parents were coming to get him...then through my drugged out fog, remembered that he was mine. That I was responsible for this tiny, red faced, tightly swaddled little boy. The weight of that was huge. Who was *I* to have the job of taking care of this little human, perfect and tiny and not yet messed up by the outside world? What was God thinking?

That night, we put him in the bassinet that the hospital provided. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to hold him in my arms all night (first timer!). I woke up to an awful sound around 3 am. Isaac was gagging on some mucus in his lungs, coughing and sputtering. I jumped out of bed - literally jumped - to get to him. Yes, I had had major surgery less than 24 hours previously. Yes, I was still catheritized and hooked up to an IV. Yes, I was barely able to sit up straight, but I jumped. By the time I got to him and picked him up, I was sobbing. Not only was I scared, but it HURT. I knocked my catheter out of place, pulled a stitch along my incision line. Rob woke up at this point, bewildered and unsure of who to help first, the crying baby or crying wife. In that painful, somewhat scary and very REAL moment, I realized that being a parent was going to hurt. Not always physically, and not always in a bad way, but hurt nonetheless.

I realized that this tiny human was part of me, and that I would do anything for him, even despite my own pain. Then it connected in my brain, how much me looking at and admiring this little boy must be like God and us. Looking at this tiny being and seeing the beauty and perfection in them...yet knowing that it wouldn't stay that way forever, that this little boy whose presence was bringing me such joy would one day break my heart in ways I hadn't even thought of. Yet, that I would give my very life for him. Just because he was mine. Brought the gospel message home in a new way.

That short hospital stay cemented in me why treating my children with respect was important. Not only are they a part of me, they are God's children - even more than they are 'mine'. They belong to Him, and I needed to treat them that way. Not to overprotect and shelter from the world, but to take care of, nurture, love, guide and protect. Sometimes, yes, that means waking up to deal with a teething baby at 4 am when I would rather be in bed. Sometimes it means stepping back and calming myself before freaking out on the child that is happily the garbage on to the floor. Sometimes it means finding some endurance to get through the late afternoon when I am just so tired from the night before that I want everyone to go away so I can be alone. Sometimes it means having that extra minute of snuggles for the child who is feeling a little lonely for mom, or comforting a crying child who doesn't seem to have a 'good reason' to cry. Because it is how I would want to be treated. Because I believe that babies and children have needs that we may not understand, but can do our best to meet. Because I want them to be able to understand grace and selfless love because they have seen it in their lives. Because if I am doing it for the King...I want to do it right.