“So God created mankind in His own image,

in the image of God He created them;

male and female He created them.”

Genesis 1:27 NIV

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!”

1 John 3:1a

“And pray in the Spirit on all occasions and with all kinds of prayers and requests.”

Ephesians 6:18a

There’s nothing like scooping my boy into my arms. That warm weight on my chest sinks into my heart like a contented sigh, banishing the stress of the day. For one special moment, what’s right in the world sings louder than what’s wrong.

That’s how I felt recently when I reunited with Tim after a morning out. I relished holding him nose to nose and grin to grin, enjoying the caresses of his warm breath that still carries the sweetness of infancy. When I asked him how he slept, he looked into the distance and said, “good.” When I asked him what he ate for breakfast, he just smiled and laid his head on my shoulder. When I asked him what toys he played with, he wrapped soft arms around my neck and whispered, “Cheesy eggs!” (I hoped that was the answer to my previous question.) It was not a fruitful conversation, but my heart still aches with the preciousness of the memory, a tender moment of togetherness with my boy. He didn’t say much, at least not in words. But he clearly missed me, delighted in my presence, and wanted to draw as near as possible to feel my love and express his own. I basked in the glow of his affection.

In spite of the difficulty of parenting a toddler, the deep truth of our relationship is that every detail of Tim’s existence delights me. I love to be near him, to exclaim over him, to wonder over the miracle of his little ears listening for my voice, his trusting hand sharing its warmth, his wide brown eyes searching mine. This is my mother’s heart at its finest, glorying in and reflecting the heart of my Heavenly Father. As I rejoice over Tim, so God rejoices over me: “He will take great delight in you; in His love He will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing” (Zephaniah 3:17b NIV). In spite of my often rebellious and toddlerish spirit, God delights in me, rejoices over me. It’s the hardly believable, knock-me-down-with-a-feather truth that God glories in my existence and loves me infinitely because my existence is born out of His glory and infinite love. As J.R. Vassar puts it:

Adam and Eve were the crowning achievement of God’s creation. This is a stunning statement when you consider what God made as a warm-up. Galaxies, quasar clusters spanning four billion light-years, stars and constellations, sun, moon, oceans, mountains, and vast canyons, all crescendo in the triune God saying, “Now, let’s turn it up a notch and make something in our image.”¹

I am more beautiful to God than all the galaxies. I am precious to God as Tim is precious to me. And so it occurred to me, holding Tim after a morning out, that I overcomplicate prayer. If I am so deeply thrilled by the simple affection of my son—a word or two of fragmented conversation and a few moments together to enjoy one another’s presence—and God designed my motherhood to reflect His heart for His children, then why do I sometimes think that God requires a formal presentation of my most erudite thoughts in order for my prayers to please Him? That belief reflects a mistaken assumption about God’s heart for me, as if He sits stoically on a distant throne, waiting for me to bridge the gap with worthy deeds and articulate prayers.

But that is not the way God operates. Like an affectionate Father, He invites me to “come boldly before the throne of grace” (Hebrews 4:16) and He has backed that invitation up time and again. From the dazzling instant He breathed life into humankind, to the devastating moment He skinned His own animals to cover humanity’s shame, to His repeated rescuing of and pleadings with His fickle people, to His unhesitating gift of the life and blood of His own Son, God proved His love for me before I could even respond to it. He turned the cruelest human miscarriage of justice and mercy into an instrument for fulfilling justice and mercy on my behalf. He tore from top to bottom the curtain that separated Him and me in order to unite us in an intimacy hitherto undreamed-of, such that the whole earth shuddered and the rocks split open with glory (Matthew 27:51).

This is the God Whose love I enjoy. This is the God to Whom I pray.

I am called to pray on every occasion (Ephesians 6:18a), and there’s a time for every type of conversation with God; the Psalms are evidence of that. But as God’s chosen child (1 John 3:1) and the pinnacle of His beloved creation (Genesis 1:26), I wonder if the delight of prayer is much more accessible than I have believed. When I don’t have the words, there is occasion enough in the quiet warmth of an affectionate moment, safe in the arms of the One who loves me most.

¹Vassar, J. R. “Glory in a Garden.” Glory Hunger: God, the Gospel, and Our Quest for Something More, Crossway, Wheaton, IL, 2015, p. 20.