It’s the early morning of January 17th, 2025, and my head cold won’t let me sleep. As my snotty tissues pile up by my bedside, my mind wanders to memories with my son.
“It’s not every day you’re young man turns 11” -Hagrid
Yes, it’s my son’s birthday today. And rather than subject my sleeping wife to a trumpeting elephant, I thought I’d come downstairs and write down a few thoughts about Jett.
What a tremendous love I have for this boy. Earlier this week in a post I shared a story about Jett’s last minute hesitation to attend 5th grade camp last year. While that was quite emotional and heart-breaking, watching him dissolve into tears out of fear of leaving his safe place he calls home, at the end of the day, he went to camp and loved it.
The journey from cautious to confident has been the continually unfolding story of Jett’s life. A journey that will only progress as he approaches his teenage years and beyond.
From before he was born, there was a lot of caution surrounding Jett. After several visits to the OBGYN during pregnancy, we were told that Jett didn’t seem to be growing at the same rate of most babies. They were worried about some disease that causes this, the name of which escapes me (and I’m not about to go wake up my wife and ask her right now- I might as well poke a sleeping bear, already sleep deprived from her growling geyser snot gushing husband). While I don’t remember some of the technical details, I do remember feeling concerned. Jett was our 2nd child and we had only been parents to his big sister for a little over a year at this point. For that sister, everything about the birth went fairly smooth (as much as it can for a first time experience, anyways).
As it got closer to the due date in January 2014, out of an abundance of caution, it was recommended that we schedule our son to be induced 2 weeks prior to the due date. So, for the first and only time with our unborn child, we chose a birthday. January 17th, 2014. I guess that took away some nerves about rushing to the hospital, but gave us pause about our sweet son being born healthy and a tad bit early. Many prayers were said at the time for the health and safe arrival of our 1st son.
The birthday came, and after just a few hours in the hospital, my incredible wife gave birth to a beautiful boy. He was so tiny! 5 lbs 5 oz. He got only a few seconds to snuggle with mom until nurses, and myself, noticed that he was starting to turn blue. They pulled him out of the room and put him on some oxygen. I tagged along with baby boy.
We were reassured by doctors and nurses that he was going to be just fine, and that he may need a few days in the NICU to make sure it continued that way. So that’s what we did. We basically hung out at the hospital for a few days, while our tiny infant son lay in the NICU, with his cool shades and jaundiced skin chilling under some bilirubin lights. Of course we went in as often as we could to hold him, feed him, and admire him. Whatever disease concerns there were that resulted in our baby boy’s size, were quickly tested for and dismissed. He was a perfectly healthy tiny baby boy.
With all of our children, my wife and I had generated lists of potential names we liked, but we always felt we needed to see their faces and test the names out. I’m sure I have my list still somewhere, but it doesn’t matter. The only name that suited him, was Jett.
I had never heard the name before my wife mentioned it, and while it is still fairly unique, I’ve since met many other Jett’s over the past 11 years.
But there’s nobody quite like our Jett.
Soon after he turned one, we bought a toddler toy basketball hoop with little basketballs he could hold and throw. He figured out how to throw the ball into the basket pretty quickly, and was quite good, if I do say so myself. We would spend hours sitting in the family room playing with those basketballs. Like most boys, he loved any kind of ball. My wife would walk him through the grocery store and he would point at the different spherical shaped produce and yell excitedly “Ball! Ball!” It was a sign of his future love of sports and his natural athleticism.
Sometime before Jett turned 2, an unexpected challenge surfaced as he started to grow a clinging attachment to me. He always wanted me to hold him. Constantly. It became quite an annoyance that if we ever went anywhere and did anything, I was always holding Jett. If there was some party or gathering with friends, you’d find me off in a corner holding and entertaining Jett. If I were asked to give some talk or sing in church, the second I would stand up and walk to the front, he would scream and cry for me. For a while, as part of a church calling, I had to attend other wards on Sunday, some of them out on the San Juan Islands in Washington State, so Jett was my little traveling buddy and we’d spend the day together riding ferry boats. At the time, it was a struggle having Jett constantly holding my side. Now, of course, I look back with fondness at all the time we got to spend together. I sure miss my crying, clinging, cautious, baby boy.
Caution. Jett was always very cautious. In 2015, a Pixar movie came out called “The Good Dinosaur,” If you’ve seen the movie, the main character, a young dinosaur named Arlo, timid and nervous by nature, was a perfect description of our sweet son. We may have even called Jett our little Arlo for a little while. With anything Jett tried or did, he was always cautious. Often scared. It was difficult to get him to do anything he hadn’t done before without a lot of smiling encouragement from mom, dad, or cousins and friends his age. And even then, he was often the only one that wouldn’t do something if he didn’t want to.
In 2017 we went on a trip to Disneyland. At age 3, there weren’t many rides Jett could do or wanted to do. We thought that the Tow-Mater truck ride in Cars Land would be perfect. You sit in a little tractor and go around in circles. Nope, he did not like that at all and screamed the entire time. In 2023, another Disneyland trip at age 9, this time with some encouraging cousins, I was able to watch his caution turn to confidence, as he decided to go on the Guardians of the Galaxy (Tower or Terror) ride. I accompanied him and as soon as we sat down on the ride, got strapped in, and started to move, all of a sudden Jett decided he did not want to be there. Unfortunately it was too late to do anything about it, and for the next few minutes I sat, holding my screaming and terrified son, and we dropped several stories over and over. My heart ached as my son was forced to endure what probably seemed like torture at the time. However, as we exited the ride and the crying ceased, his cousins approached and asked him how he liked it. He was honest and said he didn’t like it, but I could see a hint of a smile on his face, somewhat proud of himself for overcoming something difficult.
Over these past few years, I’ve watched Jett grow into a bold kid. He will still approach what he wants to do with caution, but all it takes is a little taste of success or realization of enjoyment, and it’s like a switch that flips in his head. All of a sudden, he’s the most confident kid you’ll ever meet.
In 2021, we decided to get Jett involved in flag football. I had never played football (besides elementary school recess and yearly turkey bowl events), but we enjoyed watching it together. I’ll never forget the first time he played. I wasn’t sure what to expect. At age 7, I imagined the rules of football would be complicated. Jett’s team had a few practices to get themselves organized, and then all of a sudden it was game time! In his very first game, within the first few minutes, Jett was handed the ball and he took off for a touchdown. I got it all on camera.
I was somewhat shocked! Where did that come from? All caution thrown to the wind, and there was this confident kid striding down the field like a pro! I know it’s just a kids game and I’m absolutely an over-enthusiastic yelling parent, but in that moment it was less about the points he scored and more about the boost of confidence I could see in his face. He was good at this. And he showed it over and over again throughout the season.
Since then I’ve watch Jett excel in flag football, soccer, basketball, and pretty much anything involving a ball, his 1 year old toddler love of balls perfectly foreshadowing the atmosphere of confidence and competence in any sporting activity he touches.
As much as I could go on and on about Jett and his boldness in sports, I’ve also seen him grow from caution to confidence in other ways. I’ve watched him make new friends, learn new hobbies like drawing, piano playing, and taking on the Rubik’s cube, and I’ve witnessed him fearlessly try many other new things as they come. He may not like the new things he tries sometimes, and he might even still be somewhat cautious at first, but his tenacity and determination once he has found something he enjoys, is unmatched.
Still inside this bold kid of mine is a tender heart, an anxious desire for home and peace. Inside this hilarious kid of mine is a stand up comedian, a scholar, an always on time hard worker. Inside this sweet kid of mine is a loving brother, a kind son, and a dependable friend.
I’m so lucky to have him as my son. He keeps me on my toes. Always asks to play with me. Always wants to be active and moving. Just like I look back and think about the kid Jett has been til now, wishing it lasted longer, I know I’ll look back again in a few years at the young man he is now, and wish I had the ability to slow time down. To stretch out every moment of throwing a football, watching him play soccer, chatting in the car, playing Rocket League together, or reading Harry Potter to him at night.
I firmly believe that there’s nothing more fulfilling in life than being a parent, especially to a wonderful, amazing, bold, cautiously confident child, like Jett.
The bold journey of cautious to confident is an ongoing one. We all have different levels of caution. Some of us enjoy throwing it to the wind, others cling to it for dear life. But somewhere in there is growth, learning, self-confidence, and happiness, and as we all embark on this journey differently, keep in mind that caution keeps us grounded, confidence gives us wings, and both are needed for a safe journey into the bold.
Occasionally as a family, we get together in a “quiet” (just go with it for a second) setting like our living room, and attempt to sit calmly (haha) on the couch to have a little family pow wow. Sometimes we’ll watch a quick spiritual video of some kind, or we’ll read scriptures, or sometimes just discuss what’s going on with everybody that week.
When I say a few minutes, it really is a few minutes before the kids start throwing couch pillows, sitting on each others faces, or laughing uncontrollably at something someone said which all turns into wrestling on the floor.
Sounds crazy, I know… 🙂
Every now and then, unprovoked by my wife and I, we’ll get some genuine comments and questions from the kids. I love it when it happens because it means that our home has become, at least in that tiny moment, a place where our child can feel comfortable speaking his mind and being vulnerable enough to ask sincere questions from his heart.
Our son Jett, who just happens to be turning 11 this week, is an amazing boy. He doesn’t often speak his mind or show sincere emotion, but when he does, you know it’s real.
I’ll give a quick example. At the beginning of this last school year, Jett and his fellow 5th graders were getting ready to go to 5th grade camp. They would be gone for several days, camping in cabins with their classmates and school teachers. Jett was excited to go, and didn’t show any hesitation at all. We got everything packed up, and the morning of the first day, as we were about to head out the door to drop him off at the school with all of his camping gear, something inside him unleashed. Something he hadn’t even hinted towards, and my wife and I were somewhat surprised at what was going on. He was in tears as he told us over and over that he didn’t want to go. That he was scared. That he didn’t want to be away from home without us. That home was where he felt safe, and he didn’t want to leave that. We had no idea he was feeling this way. And it was true, as a 10 year old boy, he had never spent the night anywhere else without us, or some immediate family member that he knew and trusted. This would be the first time he would be “on his own” for several nights in a row in a strange new place.
Long story short, after some emotional and difficult conversations, while sitting on the curb outside the school with all of the other kids on the buses ready to go, and with some strong encouragement to him on my part, he ended up going. Of course, he had a blast and was glad he went, as were we.
The reason I share that quick story is to speak to Jett’s tender heart. While he keeps getting older and is becoming more and more guarded against his parents, and less willing to share his true feelings with us, he’s still got a soft spot for his safe place he calls home.
Ok, back to our family pow wow. I can’t even remember exactly what we were discussing at the time, but whatever it was, Jett decided to ask: “How do I even know that what you’re saying is true? What if you’re just making it up? How do we know what anybody says about anything is true? Any story that anyone tells about something else, or somebody else who isn’t alive anymore, or that happened a long time ago, how can we actually know if it happened or not? People could just be making things up.”
I had to take a minute as I realized my son was not just making jokes and being silly, he was sincere. He was speaking about real concerns from his heart. I don’t know that I gave him a very good answer in the moment, I probably said something about how the Gift of the Holy Ghost helps us know the truth of all things, and the only way we can know truth is by learning, studying, and prayer. At least that’s been my experience.
But more than my answers, I was fascinated and pleased at the wonderful questions my son was asking. I have no idea what prompted them, but in that moment I was proud that he felt the need to ask, that he felt home was a safe space in that moment to open up.
This prompted me to think about the importance of asking questions.
Video Games
Have you ever played a role player game? My son Jett loves this game called The Legend of Zelda. I’ve watched him play, and it’s really quite fun. It’s essentially a story that you get to play out. There are missions to accomplish, items you need to collect, and enemies you need to thwart. It’s an open world game where you can pretty much go anywhere you want. If you really wanted, you could wander around aimlessly for hours.
However, if you’d like to actually progress through the story of the game, you need to interact with the NPC’s, the Non-Player Characters. These characters can be quest-givers, vendors, companions, or even enemies. These interactions contain a lot of questions. Questions posed by the NPC, or by your character, something to help guide you on your way and dropping little hints for whatever you need to do next. By interacting with these NPC’s, you then discover clues about what you need to do next and where you need to go.
Simply said, asking questions is how you level up. It’s how you learn. It’s how you discover things you otherwise might not have noticed or thought about. And the more questions you have, the better you can progress. Until eventually, you beat the game.
I’ll be honest, I don’t have a lot of patience with these kinds of video games. I find myself too often wandering aimlessly trying to figure things out myself before I end up getting stuck, frustrated, and just quit.
Yikes am I relating video games to life? I guess video games can actually be helpful. I can see my wife rolling her eyes at the notion… (by the way, the only reason I know anything about the rules of football is because of Madden ‘94 on the Super Nintendo)
Ask Questions
I’m sure we’ve all been in this scenario, I know I have a hundred times: Usually a school or a work setting. Somebody opens up an opportunity to ask questions about a topic. In my brain, tons of questions are firing off, whether from a lack of understanding or paying attention or a desire to discuss more, I have questions… but I say nothing. I hold my tongue. I wait to see if maybe somebody else in the room will ask the question I have. I’m embarrassed to ask the question. Although I look around the room, and I get the sense that other people have the same concern or question, I still don’t want to put myself out there. I’d rather stay silent than give myself an opportunity to learn. Finally, some brave soul does decide to ask the question and I’m glad that I didn’t have to put myself out there. I sure would have felt stupid asking that question, and now I could pretend like everyone else that I knew the answer the whole time.
Yet there is something admirable in that person who asked the question. They understood how to level up and just needed to ask.
What’s the best way to behave on a first date?
Ask questions.
What’s the best way to sell a product or service?
Ask questions.
What’s the best way to understand and connect with your spouse?
Ask questions.
What’s the best way to understand anything you don’t understand?
Duh, ask questions. (Side note: Those last 2 questions are in no way connected…)
I don’t know why we are so afraid to ask questions sometimes. To put ourselves out there and be vulnerable just for a minute. To not care how people might judge us because there’s something we don’t understand.
Questions are like a secret super power to getting through life. A hidden key to unlock an unseen door. A tool that if used correctly and sincerely, can chisel and shape you and the people you talk to into stronger, more capable and connected versions of yourselves. You might even reveal truths and life experiences that were before hidden in plain sight. And you might empower someone within ear shot who maybe isn’t quite ready to ask questions, or be vulnerable, but is now one step closer to leveling themselves up.
Don’t you love it when somebody asks you questions? When somebody wants to know how you’re doing, and engages with you in conversation about your life? It feels good. It’s fulfilling. And when you also respond with questions, and allow others to open up, it creates this open environment where people can build a connection.
As the great philosopher of our time, Taylor Swift, has said (or rather, sang- from her Midnights album): “…it’s just a question.”
It’s all easier said than done. Myself included.
And once again, I’m glad I have my children in my life to remind me of the simple importance of just asking questions.
🎵 Ba da da da da da daaaaa da da da daaaaaaa 🎵 (to the tune of Super Mario finishing a level)
“…there is no Divine vending machine. Our good works are not tallied up on some giant heavenly whiteboard earning us one more brick on our heavenly mansion.”
The concept of grace has been on my mind a lot lately.
I recently finished reading a book by Adam S. Miller called “Original Grace.” I absolutely love this book. It has changed and expanded my perception on the idea of God’s grace and how it effects me personally.
Now I’m no religious scholar, and there’s quite a bit in that book that I’m going to have to read again to better understand. But after one read, there are just some thoughts about the topic of grace that I need to get out.
My goal in writing this is not to lay out a doctrinal discourse of the conceptualization of grace, and it also may not align with traditional views of grace that are generally understood and believed by others. It’s just my thoughts. My feelings. Grace as I understand it as of today according to the book of Mikey. A book that’s constantly being edited.
Prayer
I think as I’ve gotten older, my concept of God and my relationship with Him has changed.
When I was little, I sang from a very young age one of my favorite songs “I Am A Child of God.” I understood that God was my Father, and everyone here on earth are my brothers and sisters, also children of God. I prayed to Him at night, at meals, and whenever I felt sad, grateful, or in need of something.
The idea of prayer was a simple concept for me in my youth. I can talk to God, like I would talk to a friend. I could thank Him for the many things in my life I had to be grateful for. I could ask Him for help with something I was struggling with. I was taught that He would not only listen to my prayers, but that I could receive comfort and even answers to my prayers.
But this is where things got a little more difficult for me. Like it or not, every time I prayed, it felt like a one-sided conversation. Sure I would get feelings of comfort or joy and happiness, and I would take those feelings and interpret them as I felt in the moment, and that was helpful for me. But as far as words spoken back to me, something clear and easy to understand, something like an actual conversation, this never happened.
Now every Sunday and every time I read the scriptures by myself or with my family, there is story after story of God talking to people. Usually Biblical prophets, but not always. Full on conversations with specific commandments, instructions, and directions. I also grew up hearing stories of church leaders, people around me, and people that I knew talking about how they would get answers to prayers. They would share an experience or a struggle they were having, talk about faith and prayer and obedience to commandments, and the story would end with “I knew what God wanted me to do, and I did it, and it was an answer to a prayer.” Or maybe there was a twist of some kind like “I kept praying for X, I strived harder to keep the commandments, read scriptures, go to church, study, etc, and God answered my prayer in His own time and in a different way than I expected, and I didn’t realize it until later.”
Prayer is a very personal, sacred, and special thing for me and for anyone who engages in it. It’s not my place to judge someone else’s experience from prayer. But that doesn’t mean that hearing these kind of stories, both from scriptures and from people over the years, didn’t have an effect on me.
Transactional God
This effect, especially in my youth but even up until recently in my life, deeply embedded this idea that God was a transactional God. Like a vending machine that you walked up to, inserted your tokens of obedience and adherence to God’s laws, and in return you received a promised blessing. The scriptures especially are full of stories and phrases that encourage obedience and promise blessings. Over and over and over again.
Don’t get me wrong, I fully believe that God can and will bless you in your life. He has certainly blessed me more times than I can count.
But there is a flip side to this belief of a transactional God. If obedience to God’s commandments = promised blessings, than naturally disobedience to God’s commandments = punishment. Maybe that’s too harsh, how about failure to obey God’s commandments = no blessings. You don’t pay the token, you ain’t gettin’ nothing!
I’m oversimplifying, I know, but it’s still a concept that I was taught and has been engrained in me for my entire life. And the result is a relationship with God that became transactional.
If I remembered to pray twice a day, read scriptures every day, go to church every Sunday, and keep every other commandment as best I could, any blessing I felt I received, I attributed to my diligence and my effort and God was fulfilling his promise. If I forgot to pray, or read scriptures, or missed church, or failed to keep some commandment, and something bad then happened in my life, I would immediately chalk that up to deserved punishment for not paying my obedience token.
It’s a simple concept. Easy to understand, easy to feel good about myself for the good choices I make and the nice blessings I receive, and easy to justify the reasons why bad things would happen to me if I disobeyed something.
It’s also, I now believe, completely false.
Here’s a challenge that I think every God-fearing faith-filled person can relate to: You’re struggling with something and for whatever reason you’re in dire need of blessings from God. So you follow the formula. Church. Scriptures. Study. Prayer. Service. Tithing. You grind and focus and commit yourself. You are loaded with obedience tokens, you’re feeding that vending machine. Maybe you have a specific blessing you’re in need of or maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re happy to let God bless you in some way that you can see and understand and know that all this diligence, all this effort, is being rewarded cuz MAN after all this work, you are EARNING IT! ANNNNNDDDD….
Nothing.
Or maybe worse than nothing. Maybe despite your efforts, something horrible happens in your life. Something awful. Something unbearable. And now, you’re confused. You’re frustrated. You interpret all these horrible things as punishments. God is punishing you! You’re diligently paying your obedience tokens and the vending machine must be broken! The rug is pulled out from under you. You feel you don’t receive the blessing you deserve.
I don’t know about you, but when this happens to me, I find myself responding one of 2 ways: 1. Get angry at God and feel like giving up or 2. Frustrate myself into even more obedience, determined to figure out what I must be doing wrong and fix it to stop God’s punishment. Like a crazed conspiracy theorist psychopath attributing meaning and significance to every single action in my life until I spin down this whirlpool of sadness and drown in my own depression because there must be something horribly wrong with me, and I can’t figure it out. I can’t solve the puzzle. I feel undeserving, alone, and unworthy.
Worthiness
A quick side note on worthiness. I may rub some people the wrong way by saying this, but I do not like the word “worthy” or “worthiness.” It’s used all too often in church. It’s thrown around in talks, Sunday school lessons, temple prep classes, etc. Your interview for your temple recommend is even referred to as a “worthiness” interview.
I feel that the word carries with it a negative connotation and weight that results in people constantly feeling that they aren’t “worthy.” Worthy for blessings. Worthy to go to the temple or church. Worthy to get answers to prayers. Worthy of God’s love. As if God’s measurement of love for His children was directly correlated to our own worth.
And who judges my worth? Who can talk to me and conclude if I’m worthy or not?
That’s easy: Nobody.
Only God.
I think it would be a positive shift to completely remove the word “worthy” from common church vernacular. There are other words like “eligible” or “qualify” that convey similar meaning but leave off the spiritual and emotional weight and gravity of personal worth.
It’s this idea, though, in the context of a transactional God, that we can all too often feel unworthy. We are checking all the boxes to be worthy and when we don’t receive the blessings we feel we deserve, we sorrow in our own worthlessness.
The Prodigal Son
I LOVE the parable of the Prodigal Son. I think it is the most important story for understanding God’s love for his children. In Adam S. Miller’s book he goes into this parable in great detail, and expands upon it’s meaning in a way I had never understood before.
Now I’ll be the first to admit that for many years, this parable made no sense to me. One son squanders his inheritance, looses everything, falls off the deep end and comes back crawling to his father only to be embraced and celebrated? They throw a big party for him! But the person I related to was the other brother, who’s like “What the heck, dad! I’ve been here the whole time, I made all the good choices, and I never got any party! What gives?” Honestly that’s probably how I would have felt! Both sons felt they didn’t get what they deserved, based off their choices and actions.
Under the concept of a transactional God, this parable makes no sense. One son squanders his obedience tokens, but get blessed by his father anyways. One son paid his obedience tokens, but never got that kind of blessing he felt he deserved.
And it’s this parable that perfectly teaches me that God is not, in fact, a transactional God.
God’s Grace
God, our Father, is a God of grace. It is only with this understanding that I can start to comprehend the parable of the Prodigal son. It’s the only thing that explains it. And it’s written so beautifully. When the father sees his son returning, he RUNS to him! He literally could not contain his love! He had to get to him as soon as possible, and he fell upon him and kissed and embraced him.
There are some lessons that I can only fully understand as a parent. And that’s one of them. Because, if that were my child, I would do exactly the same thing.
God’s grace is not earned. It’s given freely, no strings attached. No conditions of obedience. No holding it back until I deserve it. No weighing of obedience against my worthiness for His divine love. The scale of undeserving, unrelenting, heavenly love is already tipped, and no amount of obedience or disobedience will change it.
So what does this mean for me? Well, it means I can 1. stop being angry at God and 2. stop being a crazed conspiracy theorist psychopath when all hell brakes loose on my life. Life is a mortal experience, and mortal things will happen to me. Yes, bad things are going to happen, and it’s not a direct result of anything I’ve done. And on the flip side, good things are going to happen to me, and it may or may not be God deciding to bless me. That’s completely up to Him and if I’m paying attention to receive it.
Most of my life, I never really understood God’s grace. My understanding of God’s grace came from the Book of Mormon, 2nd Nephi 25:23 “…it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do.”
In Adam S. Miller’s book, he amends this. A better interpretation of this passage would be “…it is by grace that we are saved, despite all we can do.”
I actually think Ephesians 2:8-9 says it best: “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works…”
In other words, there is no Divine vending machine. Our good works are not tallied up on some giant heavenly whiteboard earning us one more brick on our heavenly mansion. Obedience tokens carry no currency value when it comes to God’s grace. You can earn all the faith dollars in the world, or be completely broke, and God’s love and grace for you will be exactly the same.
What an amazing GIFT it is.
In Adam S. Miller’s book he goes into great detail about how God’s grace is connected to creation, and how our own role in creation of children and raising them helps us to understand, appreciate, and internalize this idea of grace for those we love.
This idea speaks to me. This concept of grace for children, especially my own children, makes sense. I know this because I know how I feel about my own children. I often tell them when I kiss them goodnight in their beds, “I love you NM-Dub” short for “NMW” short for “No Matter What.” And it’s true. There is absolutely nothing they could do to cause me to not love them. It’s just simply never going to happen. Even if they get mad at me, ignore me, make bad choices, run away from me, never talk to me, or scream at me how much they hate me, I’ll still love them.
My children teach me what it feels like to be a father. This in turn teaches me how my Heavenly Father must feel towards me. And if it’s anything like I feel about my kids, well… it’s an extremely comforting thought.
Adam S. Miller even ends his book quoting another author, Stephen Robinson (Believing Christ) who said: “Everything you’ll ever need to know about grace can be learned in the following way: Hold a baby in your arms, perhaps while the family is out, perhaps in a chair, perhaps your own son or daughter, what do you feel? An absolute love. What has the baby done to deserve your love? Nothing. What would you sacrifice for that baby? Everything. This is God. This is grace.”
Mikey He Writes It 