Always close by is her small cloth doll, the same small cloth doll placed in her bed by the most loving of mothers upon the day of her glorious birth. Children hold close to them such precious things of comfort, gripped in perfect little fingers as they sleep, softly pulling it close to that place of tenderness lying between their face and heart. Her fingers play across the tag that rest’s softly on the doll, just up on it’s back, near the very place she hold’s so close to herself.
From her earliest spoken word, she has always called the small cloth doll “Bubba”, which strange as it may sound to us westerner’s, is not so surprising to me, for the small child’s mother is Dutch, and one of the most endearing words in her language for baby is “Bubba”. So as a mother call’s her small child an endearing name for the baby, so also does the very young female child, holding close to her, name her own small love “Bubba”.
What a gentle play on the creation as only God could orchestrate, and sitting quietly in the reverence of such a spectacle is the Loving Father breathing in every precious scent of this lovely picture. Father creates mother creates and maybe becomes a child, and child mimics mother in love.
What is this dance that finds itself playing between mind and heart as she hold’s this soft piece of comfort close? It play’s out like a concert pianist within the smallest of fingers touching and twirling the tag even as she sleeps. A Mozart can only shadow the beautiful melodies that her gentle pure movements create, as they seem to softly touch the Father’s heart while He sit’s to watch, basking in every sight, sound, touch, and taste.
As a truly loving Father, my every gift, My highest heart’s love, the ever watchful eye caresses across the breath of My beautiful child, even as she rest’s quietly to slumber in her crib, or just sit’s on the floor playing with any or all of the gifts I have given. How insignificantly small are these gifts in comparison to infinite many she gives back to Me.
I would have her know without a doubt that she is cared for, loved without doubt or limit, and secure in the fact that she is not now or ever alone. It is with any gift I give that My mind has but total purpose; to remind My child that she is cared for, loved, plus I am now and for always with her.
Any and all gratitude I would expect to hear is received in the praise her tender attention performs playing across the gifts I have placed into the hands of My perfect princess. So attentive is she always to her small doll, hardly a moment passes without her feeling for the doll, or at least realizing it is close. A daunting task for a good wife who wants’s to occasionally take the doll and put it through the washer.
No different is it with any of the toys presented. Today although may find a different picture evolve across the canvass, as a new player is added to the roster; a very small yorkshire puppy, only weeks old, and three inches long, consisting of more head then body. It’s dark soft ringlets, puppy blue eyes, and fresh excitement, if presented on yet unstable and tentative legs, coupled with sweet puppy smell, is only trumped by My own child’s expressions of joy.
Babies can be so enthusiastic, so I must present the small dog to her with caution and in modesty more for the sake of the puppies safety, then any worry for my child.
What is amazing is how much the puppy is drawn to My child, climbing immediately on her legs almost hungry for attention, seemingly unconcerned at the strength, and potential for hurt, as the child playfully examines ear’s, eye’s, and tail.
Sitting in My chair high above, looking down at My child’s play in her sweet joyful solitude, not as alone as a moment before, because I have sent her one that can only give love, a true servant of my hand, I watch with eager anticipation. The small dogs sits with her, plays with her, licks her toes with eruption’s of laughter from her sweet mouth, resulting in a sharp kick to the head, only for the little dog to come directly back for another try.
Amazingly, for the first time in her young life she has set “Bubba” aside and follows the small puppy, or the small puppy follows her as she crawls, maybe stands to walk along the living room coffee table a few step’s, to yet another more important position for some kind of toy that has met her eye.
Ever attentive, he follow’s tail wagging in eager participation to the next exciting find. Weak young legs wobble in almost mimic fashion to her steps as the young puppy follow’s, like a drunken sailor, very close to the feet of my daughter. When she finally settles with a plop of her bottom to the ground, a quiet contemplation of this rich new find of a toy begins again. He patiently lays his head softly against her leg and feet, sleeping if but a moment as she intently plays and studies yet another object.
Amazing to observe is the watchful eye of the young dog’s mother from another vantage point on the couch just beyond and also above, she was never exactly eager to let anyone touch her small puppy before, but for some unfathomable reason, an understanding that this child’s play is not only allowed, but required, is clearly seen in her eyes.
Another great Father, one of even greater love, Who created everything, including the entire company of angels, these being created and allowed to dwell even in His most inner chambers of His castle, how he loves to send His servant’s forth to comfort and supply any of the needs of His children. I can imagine in much of the same way, mine being but a shadow of what He does, this performance is much the same.
How appropriate for Him to create in this world as well similar spirit’s, good dog’s, that for no other reason then to just indulge us, His children, with their ever attentive love, a watchful eye, for never are our rantings to bothersome to be heard, always wanting and ready to play with the child in each of us, ever eager to receive a loving gesture, a lick to a playful hand or toe, if for no other reason then to let you know that you are loved. And as we look into their eye’s a return bath of love pouring out of the little spirit’s that dwell within His servant’s like a spring of unending pure water.
Soon after the day she received the puppy, a few tentative step’s started finding themselves realized in the wide joyfully expressive eyes of my young daughter. Walking between mother and father is such a moment of joy, the word’s of an event can no longer be contained within the limitation’s of the remaining space of this blog, so off to a future writing that topic meanders.
But not long after those first tentative steps were realized, one day our precious daughter stood before us, presented with two hands stretched out, “Bubba” she said! Holding the puppy out in front of her with two hands by the neck!
I am sure the small child may have startled but a bit, by the quick jump into action both her mother and I made, as we rushed to release her grip from the squirming little dog’s neck. But the puppy was not hurt in the least, just as quick as it was placed back on the floor, it crawled back up her now sitting lap, just to resume its participation in any activity she may wish to indulge upon him.
The puppy became “Bubba” in her mind and heart. And while in all the time to come, she would alway’s continue sleeping and holding the small cloth doll, never again did she bestow upon it the precious name of her baby.
So was the gift from this Father to the waiting hands of His most precious child. The Father gives only with joy to the child He so desperately loves, and the joy is experienced in many levels and moments. Gift’s are given, most of the time based merely on the want’s and desires of the child he so loves.
One would think that if at all joy is experienced, it is upon the moment of the gift being received? Well I know as a Father, and one who loves My child with an infinitely greater love then I hold for My own life, a life that I would eagerly give up for the safety and security of any of My children, that the moment of pleasure in the gift of “Bubba” was constant, initial to completion, even as the thought of gift materialized in but moment or word, and lasted until the final time her sweet hand she held him.
That tender feeling grew as the love of My child blended with the gift of My hand, her eyes pouring their fragrances like spring blossom’s in the clear fresh waters of my tears, as I basked in her perfect play. Her heart a symphony of majestic sounds that echo softly within the chambers of My own heart caressing, Me her Father, into a peace that she gives back to Me with her play.
So often children ask of a parent gift’s, but little do they know that the greatest portion of the gift, we receive ourself as a mother, as a Father, as we give the gift to our child.
Oh, how a Father loves giving gifts to His child!
From the very beginning of its conception to the end, alpha to omega.
By Peter Colla
“My Dear Lord, open my eyes your child as I receive all of the most precious gift’s you would give me, as a father, a mother, or a child.”