Resting on the Breast of Christ - A Father's Love

I don't always share personal stories on here, but I should more often, since this was all born of the heart after all, His heart, specifically.

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I stumbled upon this painting while scrolling IG this morning and it stopped my aimless scroll and brought me into a reflective state. I have a special affinity for the heart of Christ. It beckons me into rest and a place of deeply comforting love.

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When I was a little girl, up until my father passed away from brain cancer a few years ago, I would always rest my head on his chest and hear his heartbeat. There was a special divot there where my head fit perfectly, seemingly all my life, as if it had been formed just for me, or molded by my own head over the years. I can remember many times of comfort, my dad, a man of very few words, saying nothing, but just holding me gently in his arms while I rested on his chest. Hearing his heartbeat, the sound steady and strong, it would calm my own inner turbulence until my own heart slowed back to a calm and steady beat within me. 

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The years past, I left home for the pursuit of my adult life. I didn't think as often about the divot in my dad's chest when finals were beating me up or college loves went awry. I always returned home for breaks and what not, and my dad was always there, but I didn't always seek that place of comfort. I am not even sure I could name that haven as its own locale, a special thin place in my life where transcendence broke through to meet me here on earth. But it always called me. Quietly. Imperceptibly silent, yet naggingly so.

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When my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer I returned again to that place. His hugs took on a new meaning as I recognized their finite nature. I feverishly sought after as many of them as I could. I remember one afternoon, visiting home, getting ready for the long 10 hour drive back to where my husband and I now lived, I made my husband stop the car so I could run out and give my dad - just one more hug. Even when his brain could no longer articulate the sentiments he felt inside, he still found a way to make space for my heart in those moments. That embrace that day was indeed the last I received from him this side of the veil.

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I couldn't recognize it as a small child, or even as an adult, until recently, but my father was the very embodiment of Christ's love to me in those safe moments. Over recent years, Christ has brought me there, to that safe place, time and time again, as I have processed real hurts along the journey of life. My father is no longer here for me to rest my head on his chest and return to that childlike place, but I have come to discover over these last few years that it was indeed Jesus Himself who held me in those moments. He has always been with me, steadfast in His love for me, and He remains with me now. When I am in need of penetrating consolation I close my eyes to the hurts of this world and open my heart to my Father's embrace. I am aware of my father's strong arms, the throbbing of his heartbeat, but it is the face of the One who has loved me from all eternity that enraptures me and the peace I feel in those moments of prayer is a love deeper than any I have ever known. 

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Painting by Greg Collins