Maternal Instinct and God: A Short, Non-scholarly Exploration

Today, I let my mind slide off the sermon's creation, fall, redemption train. My attention landed, instead, beside an infant, a few weeks old at most. Her eyes, still ocean green, peered with a wide, unfocused gaze as if the world was just too full to look at one thing at a time. What images touched her freshly wrought mind--vague shapes and colors, perhaps? Did the world seem chaotic, or like a great tie-dye blanket around her and the beings she recognized: her mother, her father, her twin? That odd, maternal strength stirred in me, just watching her. She was more beautiful than any work of art, worth life to protect, of inestimable value. She stretched, tiny arms reaching--a wonder! Her small forehead wrinkled. She yawned. Perfection.

In the book of Isaiah, God tells Israel, "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!" (Isaiah 49:15 NIV). If a woman's maternal nature can serve as a metaphor for God's attitude toward His children--or if, more precisely, His nurturing commitment exceeds that of a mother toward her infant--I wonder how He sees us. Does He delight in our bleary attempts to perceive the huge, multidimensional reality around us? Does He encourage each clumsy gesture of growth, marveling at the curl of our small fingers? Does He coax and celebrate our smiles as we learn to receive and reflect the attitude of His voice?

Isn't it possible?