Childhood’s Secret Garden — PART ONE

“Every baby comes as evidence
that God still dreams of Eden”
– Calvin Miller, A Requiem of Love

If perchance, I would awaken from a nap to the sight of four or five adult family members gathered around my bed, all staring down at me and grinning from ear to ear…my initial reaction would be not be a pleasant one, for sure.

Am I the butt of some practical joke? My nakedness uncovered? Was I snoring? Or perhaps sleep-talking an embarrassing backlog of Freudian slips?

Such is the reaction for those of us who wander somewhere east of Eden.

For my seven month old daughter however, her response couldn’t be more opposite. For Fairlight, waking up to familiar faces smiling down upon her is one of complete and utter bliss. She’s barely awake and already grinning from ear to ear.

When my children are in the age range of let’s say…between three months and a year old, I have often introduced them to others as “our chief joy-bringer”. This is not a designation which I store away in the confines of the daddy nickname list to pull out at the appropriate time. Rather, it is a reality which gently impresses itself upon me when the time is right. I am simply describing the nature of their imprint upon my life.

Among all the people, places and things that bring our family joy, the baby is among the chiefest of them.

My babies teach me about Eden. And In my experience as a father, they point me to the heart of the Heavenly Father.

One important part of “Imago Dei” is our creative drive. We humans create things. We envision, design, and build. The overflow of human creativity pours forth in wonderful exhibitions of art, music, engineering, and technology.

Perhaps the greatest creative expression that we are given from God is the ability to procreate. That is to “bring forth” or to “beget” as some translations of the Hebrew scriptures say it. In the act of procreation, husband and wife are co-creators in partnership with The Creator, “in whom we all live and move and have our being.”

I reckon my experience as a parent is not unique…or any person, for that matter, who is enthralled by the innocence of infancy.

To look down at your sleeping child; to try and wrap your mind around the fact that this tiny human carries within him/her your own DNA is awe-inspiring.

Is that how God felt, after breathing life into the lungs of Adam and watching him rise to first life?

To hold the gaze of a infant is to tiptoe into sacred space. Dark eyes locked upon my own…searching…seeking. Who does she see? What is she thinking? Does she know I’m her dad?

I don’t know the answer to these questions. But my father heart demands that I somehow help her make this connection. I speak in high, squeaky tones. I whisper sweet nothings in her ear. I sing lullabies.

Her eyes watch my face intently. Does she recognize her father? I need proof. I want some sort of outward expression of inner connection.

A month passes. Then another.

Then one day, I think I see it. A smile!

Or maybe, it was just coincidence. Just a little tummy gas pain tugging on an unsuspecting corner of her lip…and nothing more.

Another week or so later, I am certain of it. Her smiles become more and more pronounced, more apparent, more responsive to my love.

She still gazes up at me with those big brown eyes. But now, they are filled with expectation, belonging and meaning.

“Fairlight!” I call to her, and her head turns toward the sound of her name, a big smile already spreading across her little face.

Who told you that smiles are only limited to the lips…or even the face, for that matter. For my baby, smiling is a full-body experience. Her eyes light up like little diamonds, her arms flap in unison like a fledging about to leave the nest, and her little seat hops up and down with complete abandonment. It seems that her whole body can barely contain the joy!

This is, I have decided, the purist form of human interaction I shall ever experience this side of eternity.

The lover’s gaze is a runner-up. I remember in the months and weeks leading up to our wedding day, my wife-to-be and I would spend long moments drowning in each others eyes.

But even the lovers’ gaze is haunted by the ghosts of awkwardness and self-consciousness. Even in the playground of passion and commitment, deep and prolonged eye-contact teeters like a gymnast on the tight-rope between exhilaration and insecurity. It hovers on the threshold between inseparable soul-ties and suffocating neediness.

In the gaze of my little Fairlight, God shows me what it means to be wholly human.

Sometimes when I’m sitting on the sofa with her nestled in the crook of my arm, I glance down to find her little head cranked around, peering up at me with those eyes, waiting patiently and expectantly for Daddy’s eyes to meet hers, to hear his voice speak her name…waiting for someone to smile at.

She delights in me. And I in her.

Perfect security in the presence of the father. Pure joy in response to his voice. Uninhibited expectation of good, yet untainted by the imposters of pride, exploitation and loathing.

“Let the little children come to me”, said a Man one day, “for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”