Arms of Love

Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Wisdom of Dads

BY: Jeff Gemberling

I sat looking out the window, seeing new life growing in the early dawn of spring. The more I stared at the scenery, the more my sight blurred: I felt a warm drop -- my own tear falling -- as I wondered how life could be so cruel to me. What had I done to anger God so much that he would allow everything I ever loved to be taken away, one by one, piece by piece? I had made many poor choices in life, but God had always forgiven me. Where was he now? Why didn't I feel his mighty arms wrapped around me like I did when I was a kid?

Two years ago, I met a woman and saw life in a way I had not experienced before. Simplicity. Friendship. Communication. Love. I did all the things I knew to do: brought flowers, made home-cooked dinners, read books with her, watched the mist from a waterfall we'd spent all day hiking to, prayed together while holding hands. 

What happened? What did I miss? What didn't I hear? I lived life to the fullest with her, and we gave God our best, inspired to live a wholesome life under his eyes. But, in our humanness, we made a choice. One that God would not overlook this time. I would be a great poster child for "it only takes once."

For the next nine months, my baby's mother vanished. It affected my work, my eating, my sleeping; anger and bitterness consumed my time and thoughts. 


Then, domestic relations called to inform me that I had a son, and papers were on their way for wage attachments. Why didn't she tell me? What was his name? Did he look like me? Why, God, why?

I prayed I would find the right legal help and be able to create the income needed for funding a campaign to have my son in my life. I was able to find two attorneys and had the help of family and friends to encourage me throughout the whole mess.

Finally, eight weeks after that first call, I met my son for the first time. One look at him and love like I had never felt before overwhelmed me, accompanied by the pain of seeing his mother for the first time since the fateful evening of his creation.

The next year was spent in the courtroom. I exhausted my entire savings, sold my home, let the car go back to the bank and now rely on private funding and donations for the food on my table and the house I currently live in. 

His name is Noah. He looks like his daddy. He acts like his daddy. He lives with me half the time, but we love each other all the time. I sit and stare at him for hours and watch him while he sleeps. I listen to his breath in the night while he lies next to me, asleep and snuggled against my chest. I help him count the toes he has recently discovered, as he wonders why they move by themselves. 

As I sit here, I look out the window at the springtime of new life. But the more I stare out the window, the more my sight blurs. I feel a warm drop -- my own tear falling -- as I sit wondering how life could be so good to me. What have I done to please God so much that he would allow everything I have loved to be given to me, little by little, one day at a time? I have made many poor choices in my life, but God has always forgiven me. I feel his mighty arms of love wrapped around me like I did when I was a kid. His name is Noah. He is my son.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/06/Arms-of-Love.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter