Suckling at the Breast of God

Sharp, tiny fingernails scraped into my neck, collar bone, and the bony spaces of my chest. My heavy, nerves-on-fire, newly lactating breasts ached to fill my daughters stomach as much as she ached to be full. Frantically, she clawed at my body, gaping mouth probing for sustenance. My milk was on the verge, not quite completely in, just needing some coaxing from the mouth of a hungry babe. Tears fell and sweat pooled as I paced with her squirming body around our living room, desperate for the crying, the screaming, the ear-piercing noise…to stop.

“Just be patient, baby,” I pleaded with her. “Mommy needs you as much as you need me. Just stay on baby. The milk will come. I promise it will. Please, baby, please.”

Time and time again, I would gently tug on her tiny chin and position her begging bird mouth into a strong latch, and attempt to relax my completely stressed out body to allow the milk to finally, mercifully flow. Frustrated at the drop, drop, drop instead of a gush, gush, gush, my sweet baby girl would arch her back in an angry scream, refuse my breast, and we’d start all over again.

If she could just be patient. If she could just have faith. If she could just hold tight to me, she would be fed. And my supply would grow, creating a continuous source of nutrition. It was enough, but not as quickly as she wanted it, not as free-flowing as she wanted it. And eventually, this frantic insecurity would lead to a blockage, then to an infection, then to supplementation. Her supply was never fulfilled. Not for lack of abundance, but for lack of persistence. Of course, this wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know better. And as her mother, I made sure my daughter was fed the best I was able, but felt a deep sadness that it wasn’t from the purest source. I wish I could have given her more, but it wasn’t possible without her participation.

And isn’t this how it is with God? He’s completely capable of filling our needs, our bodies, our minds, our hearts. He’s ready and willing to let us nestle close, and fall into the sweet slumber of a satiated soul. Yet we’re not patient. We don’t have faith. We don’t hold tight long enough to be fed. We arch our backs, scream and claw at his chest, berating him that it’s “not enough.” And unlike a fresh born baby, we know better.

In our frustration, our desperate longing, we settle for imitations. Things that may leave us fulfilled, but not in the way God intended. It’s not from the purest source. At times, I become this rooting infant, releasing my latch from God’s limitless love, in pursuit of more, more, more. If I would just hold fast, if I would just have faith, I would be fed. If we can remain faithful through the drop, drop, drop, the flow, flow, flow will come. Enough to fill, enough to satisfy, enough to reserve during times of drought, and even enough to share.