Tidying Up the Nursery
It's nearing 7:00 a.m., and I've finally given up on the notion of returning to dreamland--a vain pursuit begun nearly two hours ago when I stirred awake for some unknown reason. Now I find myself in the soon-to-be nursery accompanied by a Turtle Twilight casting green constellations on the ceiling and other sundry baby paraphernalia.
It is truly hard for me to believe that at any moment a newborn will be occupying this room. A third little person will come into our home not as a guest, but as a permanent member of the family.
From this perspective of fatherhood--knowing my baby only via ultrasound images, doppler heartbeats, reading to him/her, and feeling him/her roll around with my hand as I did moments ago before leaving the bed--it can seem tempting to idealize my baby. I'm not only speaking of imagining this tot to be the most adorable, most intelligent (as most parents are wont to do), but I mean thinking that somehow the beautiful little face we're about to see will be free from the sinful tendencies of his/her father.
I've been around babies. I've been around toddlers. I've spent time with adolescents and a lot of teens. I know very well intellectually that the evidence of a fallen nature is seen soon and that no one is exempt.
But, when I think about my baby, I want to think that somehow it will be different. Surely this little boy or girl won't repeat the mistakes of his/her father. Surely the little fingers that will wrap around ours could never be capable of harm.
Yet it is clear that as far as humankind has gone, the curse has followed him. Wherever there is man, there is sin; thus I don't truly expect our child to be sinless. And I don't want to set up unfair expectations that he or she cannot fulfill. But there is a tendency to idealize that which we do not yet see clearly.
When I remind myself of this, however, I also know that as far as the curse is found, the cure is available. Little Drayer will not be a perfect human, but he or she will be offered the same solution to the human condition to which Aubrie and I cling.
And, as frustrating as it already is for me to consider, I know that we will not be able to force him or her to claim that prize. But we can--and should--raise our children in the knowledge of the truth.
And we can also enjoy their toys, like the Turtle Twilight.
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