Still A Mother's Love

Wyatt loves to sit on my lap and play with the effects on Photo Booth

 Our good bishop visited the Primary, today. A new month - a new theme; and Bishop came in to help us introduce it to the kids. Along with the theme for the month, he taught the kids one of the articles of faith.

He was so animated and the kids so responsive, and he was so delighted by how clever they all were. It was a genuine joy to watch him interact with them.

And then he stopped. Looked at all those small, eager faces beaming up at him - so proud because of how proud he was of them - and you could see the signs of the Spirit wash over his face. He swallowed, and with a broken voice, said "Behold our little ones." His voice was quiet, but resonant, and he seemed to be speaking to no-one, though we all knew his words were for every heart in the room. "This is the foundation of our church."

I felt the truth of his words close my own throat tight. I looked over the room, taking in face after open, innocent face, combed and pressed and ribboned especially for church and bouncing in their chairs. Future Bishops, Relief Society Presidents, Apostles, Prophets. Missionaries. Teachers. All sitting here, together, in this room. Free from insecurities, cynicism, all the things that seem to sluff onto us as we grow up. Just willing and wanting for Truth.

And across the room from me, up on the front row near the piano, sat my son. Sitting on his teacher's lap, explaining to her that his tummy felt hungry.

I beheld my little one.

And all the times he elbowed or kicked me, all the times I had to pick him up off the floor, all the times he gave me a rude reply - or ignored me entirely, all the mean looks and the whining and the pouting that I endured with him during Sacrament Meeting one hour before disappeared into utter unimportance. This was my son - who was inherently good. My impatience with him was MY impatience, for he was perfect. I wasn't. But he loved me, anyway.

I beheld my little one, and thought about how God also beholds my little one. How He must also think he has the most beautiful eyes, ever, and how He must also laugh at the funny and clever things he says. How He must rejoice in this boy and his fervent desire to be good - even though sometimes he just gets too frustrated. And I wondered - does God ever watch as Wyatt climbs into bed with me every morning, and I get to snuggle him - sometimes for an entire hour - before we get up for the day - and does He ache to hold His little boy that He sent into my keeping?

I looked over to where Wyatt was singing with the rest of his Sunbeam class, and I wanted to hug him just a little bit tighter, to remember with Heavenly Father to never take a single moment like this for granted.

My love for him in this moment was, I realized, perfect.

And as those little voices sang the chorus to the song we were learning, "For the closest thing to Christ the King is still a mother's love," I thought: Yes, indeed.