I Love You 100
I flipped on the light of the bathroom at 1 am. I expected to find a hairbrush to detangle my post shower hair, but what I didn’t expect was my four-year-old daughter propped up on the potty having a midnight pee.
God must have known I needed to see her sweet face. He knew I needed to snuggle her lanky body that night. I needed to know that despite all the day’s struggles with kids and life, that I had something precious in my life — something worth smiling about. That I was loved.
After she hopped off the toilet, I asked for a hug. I sat in the middle of the hallway in my flowing white nightgown and wrapped her little body in my arms. She sucked her thumb and cradled into my embrace.
“Do you love mommy?” I asked.
She nodded, “Uh-huh.”
“How much to you love mommy?” I pressed.
“One hundred,” she said.
100. The simplest way she could tell me she loved me more than anything. 100. The biggest number she knows.
I know there are bigger numbers out there. So many more bigger numbers. Infinite. Countless. Without names for the depth of their bigness. But she sat curled up, clueless. One hundred was as big as her love went. It was as big as her love knew how to go.
Sometimes I forget that even though I might love God with every single inch of my being…that compared to his depth of love for me, I only love him 100. I can only love him 100. It’s the biggest number I know to love him with. It’s all I’ve got to give him.
But he knows the height, depth and width of how infinite numbers can go. He knows the names for them because He created them.
And he still loves me more.
As I placed her little body back into bed, I knew that her late night bathroom break was God’s way of reminding me — when I most needed it — that even though I was hurting that night, that he loved me. He was telling me that I would never understand the abundance of his love. He was reminding me to rest in that love because every single problem that I could ever face will shudder in the wake of that love.
I don’t have to worry. I don’t have to be depressed. I can just shimmy into the crevices of his love and sleep, knowing that he’s called me to love him 100…and he’ll love me the rest.
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