The Undiscovered Country

�You don�t know love . . .�

Many years ago – 16 to be exact, during college I tutored other students in math. One lady – who at the time was about 15 years my senior (me being 22 at the time) – actually had a natural aptitude for math, but unfortunately grew up in an era when the conventional wisdom was that girls and math didn’t make a good combination. Nothing I said or did could convince her she was good at math.

But that’s a bit off subject. We ended up discussing other things besides math.

She asked me once if I had children. After I responded in the negative, along with my plans to never have kids she said, “That’s too bad. You don’t know love until you have children of your own.”

I honestly took offense at that. I took it as if I’m incapable of loving someone deeply because I had no children. I tried to argue, but to no avail. She was convinced I would never know a deep and even perfect love while I remained childless.

Yet what she said that day remained with me. As I grew older – and I hope a little wiser – I thought more about what she said. Still convinced I would have no children, I instead watched those who did. What astonished me was how the parent’s countenance changed when they spent time with or talked about their children. Many talk about the glow of a pregnant woman, but I saw that same glow with proud and loving parents – the physical manifestation of the unfathomable depths of love.

I learned my student was right. I didn’t know that kind of love.

I also discovered something else. Parents have a greater understanding of God and his love for us than I did. God gave his life through Jesus for his children, just as most parents would do for theirs – no hesitation or regrets.

Can I claim to know love now? Do I understand God better than I did before?

Perhaps. What I know for certain how protective I am of Thomas, keeping an ever watchful eye when others hold and play with him, how I can’t get enough of holding him, watching him, just gazing at that perfect face, when he’s sleeping, gazing back at me, his face scrunched up when he has gas, or wailing when he’s hungry. I also know going back to work will be one of the toughest things I’ll ever do. I can’t go to the grocery store for an hour without missing him.

It doesn’t amaze me that a tiny person would inspire such depths of love as to defy description. Instead, it’s the most natural response in the world, much like breathing. I’ve always had that capacity, as do most people. It merely waited for expression. It merely waited for Thomas.