“For it was you who created my inward parts; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I will praise You, because I have been remarkably and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful, and I know this very well.” Psalm 139:13-14
Before I turned 31, I had walked on the Great Wall of China, stood in the mist of Niagara Falls and ridden a mule down the Grand Canyon. I’d slept in a yurt in Mongolia and mugged for pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower. I’d fallen in love, gotten married, moved to Africa, lived in a mud hut and learned a foreign language.
But at age 31, something happened that was more awe-inspiring than any of that.
I gave birth to my first child.
I held that baby while he slept and inspected every part of him, marveling at God the creator. If I had created my son, I certainly would have remembered to give him fingers and toes and a nose. But would I have thought to weave all those hundreds delicate blue veins into his eyelids? Would I have remembered the tiny pores in his smooth baby skin? God’s attention to detail in the form of my slumbering son awed me.
And the love I felt for him – more powerful than Niagara itself. I’d heard many describe maternal love, but to actually feel it … well … it was a flavor of love I’d never tasted and frankly didn’t even know existed. That child was precious to me. Even now, as he stands on the threshold of his teen years (shudder) he is precious to me.
My son taught me about the love God has for me, his daughter. God considers me precious. He knit me together in my mother’s womb, and on the day of my birth, he knew me. Even now, as I stand on the threshold of middle age, I am precious to him. (Ok, so maybe I’ve crossed the threshold, but it sounded more poetic to say it the other way.)
That’s not because I myself have any merit. It isn’t because of any inherent goodness. Like the rest of humanity, I am broken and sinful and nothing without Him. God knows my faults better than I know them myself. No. I’m precious because he created me. I was his idea. He thought me up, and then he made me. He has ownership, and he loves me in spite of myself.
You, too, were such a good idea in God’s mind that he couldn’t resist creating you. He loves you like a mother loves her child – more so.
I don’t know what your mom and dad were like, or what sort of childhood you had. But God rejoices over you like the ideal parent, the perfect parent, the one who only wants the best for his precious one.
God created you, and his works are wonderful. I know that very well.
If you really lived as though that were true, what would be different about your life?