My children vie for my attention. All the time. If one of my boys is sitting curled up next to me, or even worse, in my lap, the other must come interrupt. Kelly physically pushes his big brother out of the way and wiggles up between us so he can be closer to me than Key. Constantly one needs attention merely because the other sibling is getting some. I laugh and love on both of them and reassure them that there is enough of my love to go around. I promise them I am here for each child, and that one of them is not more precious than the other. It simply isn't possible. Today the competition was a bit absurd, complete with wrestling and pushing and pouting. My boys can get rough in their play. And it made me think. Underneath these competitions and games is an assumption that my love has limits. If I give it to one, I will not have enough for the other. But my love for them is abundant. Always growing; not reaching boundaries. When I had only one child I could not comprehend having enough love for a second child because my heart ached with love for my first born. And yet the moment I touched that second born, my love compounded exponentially and continues to grow each and every day.
Our God is the same way. In our world of competition and rules and boundaries and winners and losers and limits we cannot comprehend a God of boundless love. And yet He is a God of boundless love, a God of abundance, of joy.
His love is higher that the highest of mountains.
His love goes deeper than the deepest of seas.
His love, it stretches to the farthest horizon,
and His love, it reaches to me.
Stanza One, His Love, by David Ruis
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