A Piece of God’s Heart

I began writing this inside the waiting room right outside the hospital nursery. The physical tiredness is eclipsed only by the emotional fatigue I feel this morning. The eyes are heavy. The mind is fuzzy. The heart is weary.

 It was a long night last night.

 We brought Franco for a routine check up with our pediatrician late yesterday afternoon. Franco never got to go home. Franco was admitted in the hospital nursery to undergo phototherapy treatment to address his jaundice condition. Franco is only 12 days old.

The turn of events was difficult not only because it was unexpected but also because of what it demanded from Jeng and myself both physically and emotionally. We kept watch. We prayed hard. We sought the prayers of our family and friends. And yes, we shed tears too. Not to mention that we had to also remain strong for our two dear daughters who still could not understand the situation.

 But the hardest part last night was leaving for home.

 It was on our way out when we watched Franco over the glass window of the nursery, so little and helpless lying on the basinet, when the tears fell. Choked by the surging emotion from within, we felt our eyes misted as we turned to look away.

             “O God, why do we have to leave our son in the hands of total strangers? Can’t we just keep him for the night? We want to hug him. Cuddle him. Be there for him.”

 On my way out of the hospital building, however, somehow, by God’s grace, I received a very re-assuring perspective of what just transpired.  Looking back, I believe that experience allowed God to share with me a piece of His heart.

   2,000 years ago, God the Father may have felt the same way multiplied a zillion times. The pain was more. The hurt was greater. The love more intense. For He too had an only one Son. And He too had to leave Him behind in the hands of total strangers. But the similarities end there.

 You see, I left my only son in the hands of good strangers, men and women I knew would take care of him and help him get better.

 God the Father, on the other hand, had to leave His only Son, in the hands of a perverse human race, an evil generation that would torture and crucify His Son.

  I knew I would have my son back much better after a few days from the nursery. God the Father knew that His Son would be anything but better when he is thrust into the world.

  Dear friend, today I felt what it means to leave a son behind. But what I feel still pales in comparison with what God felt when He did the same 2,000 years ago. That is my comfort. That is my consolation. That is where my hope lies.       

 I exhort you to find comfort in this truth also. That whatever it is you’re going through, the Father went through far worse. He knows your pain…and more. He knows your hurt…and more. He knows your longing…and more.

As for me, I am just glad I found a piece of God’s heart in my heart. The pain isn’t diminished. The longing remains intense. The fear erupts once in a while. But I am at peace. For I know that if God gave me a glimpse of His heart, he also has a glimpse of mine.

 He knows how and where I am. And that is more than enough assurance that my dear Franco, just like Jesus, will emerge victorious after three days.

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