I have a photo of a little girl running toward. Her blonde curls are flying. Bulges of diapers show under her winter tights. One small red sneaker is on the sidewalk, the other in midair. Her hands are tiny round fists, arms pumping as she runs. Her face is alight with joy, her smile all baby teeth and still-bare gums. She is looking at something ahead of her, something outside the photo, and her eyes are shining. Daddy’s home.
“[T]o be a real ingredient in the divine happiness . . . to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as . . . a father in a son--it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain. But so it is.” C. S. Lewis
“[B]ecause God delights in you.” Isaiah 62:4