A picture of the Father's Love

My cell group members sit on chairs in a circle. As JX is talking, two-year-old Jadon is walking within and around the circle like he owns the place, quietly going up to people and letting them brush their hands against his head and playing with the chairs. No matter, he isn't being disruptive; let the child play as the child is meant to, comfortable in the presence of adults who love him. His mum is sitting across the room from me, keeping an eye on him. He’s playing somewhere behind me when he falls. It’s a gentle fall, but still he remains on the ground and whines in a mezzoforte: “mummy, mummy, mummy.” Loud enough to get her attention, not loud enough to cause an indecent racket. He just wants her to pick him up. Mummy motions to him from across the room: come, come here, come over to me. But he refuses to get up. Mummy, mummy, he continues. He will continue calling until she comes to him.

Mummy gets up. JX is still talking, but people shift their chairs to make way for her to pass through. Mummy makes the journey across the room. Shifting chairs. Shuffling feet.

Mummy comes all the way to Jadon on the other side of the room, bends down to pick him up from the floor, cradles him in her arms. Jadon stops calling.

How deep the Father's love for us,

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the chosen One,

Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,

My sin upon His shoulders

Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,

Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that left Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything

No gifts, no power, no wisdom

But I will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer

But this I know with all my heart:

His wounds have paid my ransom