The Arms of the Father

Yesterday, I went to an Elementary school in the neighborhood to paint animals and the Fruits of the Spirit on the walls. As I painted, I listened to children pronounce letter sounds and recite the alphabet. I found myself smiling at the wall, not even paying attention to my task at hand. Their voices were so sweet and high pitched, it brought me joy to hear them. 

About an hour went by and the bell rang to dismiss them for the day and they all flooded out of their classrooms. The general age range was from five to ten years old and I watched as they chased each other all around the school yard. Parents began to arrive to pick up their children and the numbers of students started to dwindle. During this whole ordeal I looked around to try and capture mental notes and pictures of things that I want to remember about this sweet experience. 

Then, I came across this cute little nugget staring right at me. It was a little Mayan girl, with short dark hair and fair skin. She was wearing a purple and white striped shirt and pink corduroy pants. She couldn’t have been any older than three years old and there she was, standing under a tree, in the grass, intently watching me. So, naturally, I smiled and waved to her. I went a step further and waved her over but then she shyly looked away from me and put her precious little hand over her mouth to hide her smile. 

I could tell that she was contemplating whether she wanted to walk over to me or not, so I just kept pursuing her and waved gently. Her sister, or at least I think it was, was running around chasing some of her friends and she stopped to walk the little one over to me. But, alas, this sweet girl only need a small touch from a trusted friend to send her sprinting and then leaping into my arms. 

I can watch this memory over and over in my head; Her hand dropped from her mouth, then touched her sisters hand. She looked at her sister for approval and her cheeks rose up to flash a smile, then she ran with her mouth wide open straight into my arms. Her fragile arms clung to my neck and her head rested on my shoulder, she held on so tightly. It was as if she knew exactly who I was. 

This little girl and this situation reminded me of myself. Before I knew Jesus, I only flirted with the idea of running into His arms. I knew of Him, believed He was real and intellectually knew that He died on the cross for my sins; But I never thought about that kind of love, I never thought of running into his arms, wrapping mine around His neck and smothering my face into this chest. I thought it would be more of a handshake, actually. But, man, I was so wrong. Everyday is running into my Father’s arms, some days I need a brother or sister to nudge me forward, sending me to Kingdom come. Other days I’m barreling in like a bull in a china shop. You see, I understand this little girl and her hesitation to just relent and run into the arms of someone and be embraced. In this I am reminded to be childlike and dependent on my Abba. Thank you, sweet Melanie, for reminding me to run into the arms of my Father.

Today, I am nudging you toward Jesus. Run straight into His arms and hold on to Him tight. His arms are big enough to embrace you and your burdens. 

These two pictures are from separate occasions. The one with Melanie’s hand represents my experience from yesterday.

This one of me and my dad is close to what it will look like when I run into the Jesus’ arms when I arrive at eternities door. 

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

– Marissa