“Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples…” ~Song 2:5
“Mommy, lemme give you some comfort.”
I had been deep in thought, when my youngest bounded over to me.
I was confused by her request until she climbed into my lap and hugged my neck, taking my breath away.
The roles reversed, my baby holding me.
(How very, very blessed am I ~ God has given me tangible hope and wrapped it around me.)
After a minute, she leaned back and peered at me, “Do you need some more comfort?”
“Oh yes, please.” I said.
How does she do that? I’ve been thinking about comfort a lot lately, how to give it, how to receive it.
My 3-year old is amazingly perceptive, sensitive, dramatic; an eager dispenser of love. My almost 6-year old spends much of life in her own world, seemingly unaware of those around her. The contrast is glaring.
This story resonated with me.
There are times when my Rhema is overcome. She cries a mournful, heart-rending cry, and we often have no idea what has made her so sad. Her teacher told me that Rhema seems to have a pride in her crying, her head held high, her little fists at her eyes trying to stop the tears.
She is not easily consoled.
Many a sleepless night, I have tried to reach her, hold her in my arms. But she resists. She cannot tell me what’s wrong or what she feels or needs in the moment. I am her mother and I am lost, unable to conquer the lifelong silence between us.
When I’m helpless to help the one I love, I’m learning that sometimes it’s enough just to be. Just to sit with her in the darkness. And pray for the Light. To love with all my heart from a distance. That, I can do. That, I feel honored to do.
Recently there have been a few precious times, with a few precious people, where Rhema has truly allowed herself to be still and safe.
“When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Your comforts delight my soul.” Ps. 94:19.
God, the true consolation-giver reminds me that He alone is my solace; the way He gives it is specific and best, and my heart is glad in Him.
It had been a rough day. For both of us. She was standing in her chair at the kitchen table, spinning around and around. As I rushed by her, she reached out to me. She reached out to me… and tried to jam a whole apple into my mouth. Not wanting to lose the moment I grabbed a bag of pre-sliced apples out of the fridge. Slice by slice, she pushed the apples in my mouth. I savored the loving, deliberate attention she offered as she fed me. As if she were saying, “Mommy, lemme give you some comfort.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Tank ew, tank ew,” she whispered back.
Then I hugged her, still standing there in the chair with her arms at her sides. She remained, and let me hug her.
And I was comforted.