lenten journey, day 29 — a prayer for the innocents

There are some memories that God in his mercy preserves forever. They are moments indelibly written on our hearts, because our minds are so prone to making a muddled mess of the past. One of my most cherished heart memories is the first time I saw my son—which wasn’t when he emerged all purple and wrinkled and squinty-eyed at nine months, but much earlier in his life. He was a mere 6 weeks old and about the size of a raisin.

I had reason to believe I might be having a miscarriage, so we visited the doctor for a “welfare check,” so to speak. We needed to see if our baby had died. Since this was my first pregnancy, I had no idea what to expect when the ultrasound technician started working on my still very flat belly. What I experienced that day will stay with me forever.

I saw a baby. A tiny little baby with parts that looked surprisingly like mine. He’d only been alive for about 45 days, but he was already growing the arms that would one day hug my neck, and the legs that would carry him up the steps of the bright yellow bus on his first day of school. His head bent slightly forward, much like it does now when he prays to the One who knit him together so amazingly in my womb. And he already had developed his tender, loving, passionate heart (which to our relief beat strongly with the speedy rhythm unique to tiny babes).

What I remember most about that day was the deep protectiveness that overwhelmed me and forever defined who I would be to this little life. He was a true innocent, and he needed me to carry him…in the womb…in my heart…and in all his years as my son.

Here’s another heart memory snapshot. Our dear little friend Chris was born with a severe genetic disorder that kept him tiny and babyish and caused him many, many severe health problems. In my heart, I see Chris sitting on his special stool, watching Barney on the television. His face, so physically distorted by his condition, is radiant and joyful and trusting. And so very, very innocent.

Another vivid picture: My Great Aunt Doris lying in a hospital bed, debilitated by a severe stroke, struggling with her final breaths before rushing headlong into the arms of Jesus. She has no say in what is going on around her. She cannot tell the doctors or nurses what she needs, she cannot ask us to honor whatever last wishes she might have. In these moments, Aunt Doris is a helpless, dependent innocent.

The word innocent, as I am using it here, has nothing to do with guilt, but everything to do with the fact that there are many who have no voice and no say in the decisions that affect their lives. Tiny raisin babies do not have the ability to tell us that life and love and ice cream and ladybugs and Barney and learning to know Jesus are experiences they want to embrace. The severely handicapped may not be able to tell us that their lives, though different from ours, are beautiful, much-loved lives just the same. And those near death often cannot speak of their wishes for the days that remain.

In their innocence, they trust us to do the right thing. May God graciously infuse our hearts with his overwhelming love for the helpless and the voiceless. And may we shower the innocents in our lives with the perfect love and abundant life we ourselves have received.

Jesus, there was never a time when you did not show compassion and love to the innocent. There was never a time when you gave us permission to do anything less than completely love those who have no voice. Would you change our hearts and mend our turbulent lives and whisper messages of mercy in our ears so that we can be people who love the innocent as you do? Would you remind us that caring for the innocent has less to do with legislation and everything to do with being transformed by You? Lord, pour out your affection until it forms a vast ocean of love covering the voiceless and the powerful alike…an ocean of love where we are all buoyed by the great Lover of our souls and the Author of our lives. Yes, and amen.

Rescue the weak and needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked. — Psalm 82:2-4

(Love) always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. — 1 Corinthians 13:7-8