Motherhood as Metaphor: Rehearsing the Gospel in Our Everyday Moments
My youngest had been sent to her bedroom to cool off, but it wasn’t working. As I sat down on her bed to talk things over, she threw her head back in frustration and accidentally knocked it hard on the headboard. Of course, this only made things worse, and her tantrum grew even more heated. She was angry with us, with the situation, and—perhaps most of all—with herself.
Sometimes in these moments, I can be quick to scold and get annoyed, impatient for my kids to “just chill out.” But this time was different. God had been teaching me of my identity as his beloved child: I am already loved in Christ before I can earn or deserve it, and—oh the good news of this!—loved even in my own failure, sin, grown-up tantrums, and anxious disbelief.
That night, God helped me see myself in my fitful daughter. Instead of impatiently scolding, I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her. Before she could “chill” or even had the chance to apologize, I told her I loved her—even right there in her tantruming. She eventually calmed and quieted, and it seemed all the pent-up fight, shame, and pride simply lost their hold as I wrapped her in my steadfast love. We reconciled, and then she let me hug her a little longer.
There in my daughter’s bedroom, God swept me up into a beautiful gospel metaphor—my loving embrace of my daughter mirroring his own loving embrace of me. It was a profound moment for me, and it moved me deeply.
A Living Parable
The Bible is full of rich imagery portraying our relationship with God: the sheep and the shepherd, the vineyard and the vinedresser, the clay and the potter. These images are beautiful and poignant, but most modern, Western readers like me have little day-to-day experience with tending sheep, cultivating a vineyard, or sitting at a potter’s wheel. However, another biblical image might be very familiar to us—the picture of a child, calm and quiet in a mother’s arms.
In Psalm 131, David prays, “O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.”
What if we saw our everyday moments with our children as a living, breathing parable, illustrating the trust and quiet dependence we can access in Christ? What if we could rehearse the gospel every time we hug our fitful children close, apply a bandage to a scraped knee, hold a tiny hand all the way through a busy parking lot, or stroke their hair as they lay peacefully against our chest?
Like a Child with Its Mother
As theologian Derek Kidner notes, David’s prayer of childlike faith in Psalm 131 begins with the rejection of two related sins: pride (“my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high”) and presumption (“I do not occupy myself with things too great”).[1] Because our God is powerful and because we are hidden in Christ, we need not pridefully rely on our own strength, achievements, or righteous works. And because our God is in control and knows the end from the beginning,[2] we don’t have to understand all he is doing in order to trust his loving care.
As beloved children of God, we can reject self-sufficient striving, anxious hurry, and living like everything rests on our shoulders. Even in our grown-up tantrums and wrestling, God invites us to humbly rest in his gracious embrace. Like a child with its mother, our disposition can be one of trust, dependence, and deep peace.
Satisfied in God’s Presence
A nursing infant squirms and roots, his hungry mouth seeking out his mother’s milk. But as he is weaned, something changes. Tim Keller writes: “A weaned child is content just to be with its mother, enjoying her closeness and love without wanting anything else. We so often approach God only for what he can give, rather than simply to rest in his presence.”[3]
In prayer, we list our requests and worries, often presuming to know what God’s answer should be or what we need to make things okay. “God, help me complete this project today,” we pray. “God, please change this circumstance,” we ask. “God, heal my loved one,” we plead. These prayers are not wrong, as God invites us to pour out our hearts to him—every worry, fear, question, doubt. And still, God offers an even deeper rest.
Even if our work goes unfinished, our difficult circumstances remain, or our loved ones are never healed, God is present. Through the work of Christ and the indwelling of his Spirit, God is near, and he won’t leave. If we are in Christ, nothing can shake our identity as his beloved children. And if we are in Christ, nothing can change our eternal hope: one day, we will see God face to face, and his presence will be so bright and all-encompassing that we won’t even miss the sun.[4]
God’s presence is what we most deeply need, and it’s also what we already have in Christ.
A Calm and Quiet Soul
In Psalm 131, David approaches God with an already-activated humility, speaking in past tense: “I have calmed and quieted my soul.” He knows God’s power, goodness, and sovereignty and has deliberately submitted to him in light of these truths. He has made the Lord his refuge and hope, declaring alongside Psalm 73:25-28: “Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. . . . For me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord God my refuge, that I may tell of all your works.” At the end of his short prayer in Psalm 131, David invites others into this humble frame of soul as well: “O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and forevermore.”
Today, hear David’s invitation: come quiet and calm your soul, resting in your identity as a beloved child of God. With humility, come place the full weight of all your hopes, fears, and sorrows into the gentle, strong arms of your Father. Even now, he invites you to lean your head on his chest, to be still and rest. Even now, you are held in his steadfast love.
Rehearsing the Gospel
Today, let’s take notice of the moments when a child rests calm and quiet in our arms, reaches out for a hand of reassurance, or allows a defiant tantrum to melt into confident trust. Everyday moments like these can awaken our joy in the gospel, compelling us toward contented dependence on the Lord.
And today, if we find ourselves knee-deep in some shame or failure or throwing a tantrum akin to the one my little girl threw in her bedroom, let’s remember the gospel. While we were yet enemies, before we could “chill” or apologize or make ourselves presentable, God showed his love by sending Christ to die for us.[5] And now, through Christ, the Father’s arms are thrown wide open to us. Like a child with its mother, we can rest in his presence, his character, and his promises.
[1] Kidner, Derek. Psalms. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2014.
[2] Isaiah 46:10
[3] Keller, Timothy, and Kathy Keller. The Songs of Jesus: A Year of Daily Devotions in the Psalms. New York, NY: Viking, 2015.
[4] Revelation 21:23
[5] Romans 5:8
