Thank you for restoring my hope in love today. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know your story or even your name, but
Thank You.
Today I sat on a bench in a lovely town square, eating frites in the darling cone with the little plastic fork- grieving recent events (suicide attempts, broken relationships, inexplicable cruelty to innocents, etc.) and wondering to myself- do people even know how to love each other anymore? My cynicism, cleverly disguised as “logic” cast its vote: nay. I thoroughly enjoyed my delicious frites and the orange sauce of genius as I thought the worst of everyone passing by. It seemed that every passing conversation was an argument, and every passing glance was a scowl. I congratulated myself on my good judgement. See, I was quietly judging people, cleverly disguised as “people watching.” Poser. Jerk. Seriously, who do I think I am? It wasn’t a satisfying activity. In all of my cynical judging, I wasn’t comforted or proud of myself. I was grieved. I ached. I really, really wanted to be proven wrong.
And then I saw it. Something turned my gaze upward, to the top of a sizable set of stairs. In the distance, I saw a father bend over an oversize baby buggy. Crowds shuffled past, and I watched, expecting to see him hoist his little one to his shoulder and navigate the buggy down the stairs with his free hand. And I was wrong.
Carefully, tenderly, he lifted the entire buggy, which was huge (have you ever seen the Euro strollers?) and tip-toed down the lengthy staircase. It must have been over a hundred stairs. He never stopped. He never gave himself a rest from the painstaking process, ever mindful of his sleeping baby. He did not speed up towards the end as his legs buckled under the weight of the stroller, eager to reach the ground level. Cradling the giant buggy, he maintained a slow, steady pace. A long, long time later he gingerly set the buggy down. So gently, so carefully. And smiled. And then walked off, not missing a beat.
That's what love looks like, on a sunny afternoon in Brussels. I marveled, eyes misting, and hope came rushing in. I had just seen the great lengths this father went to, forgetting himself entirely, to ensure the absolute comfort of his sleeping baby. His thought process was entirely given to his little one- his comfort or convenience never entered the equation. He delighted in the great lengths he went to, just as he delighted in peeking under the little umbrella to ensure his baby was still sleeping. He did it well, and he did it with joy.
I have a Father like that. I have been loved like that. And thus, I want to love, like that. But-probably with a colorful scarf wrap instead of a buggy.
Also, in Belgium cotton candy is called "papa's beard." :) Just thought you should know.
"He brought me out into a broad place; he rescued me, because he delighted in me." -2 Samuel 22:20
