A few weeks ago, sitting at a stoplight in my car, I turned to look at Luke. He was sitting in his carseat, his little legs dangling, his fuzzy dark crew-cutted head shining in the sun. He saw me looking at him, and smiled.
“I love you, Lukey,” I told him.
He kept smiling at me with his coffee-colored eyes. “Yes,” he said.
As with many things Luke says, there was a certain enigmatic nature to his response. As the light changed and I drove on, I found myself pondering the subtext to his reply. Was it, “Yes, you’ve told me that before”? Was it, “I love you, too, Mommy”?
Or maybe the subtext was a simple, “Yes, I am loved by you.” Maybe it was his way of saying, Of course you love me. I know that. I accept that.
I kind of like this third interpretation. I like to think that Luke sees himself as totally lovable, that it is absolutely no stretch for him to accept that his mom is totally crazy about him.
I think Luke is onto something here, little carseat mystic that he is. It’s a useful reality check for me, and my spiritual life. If God were to turn around in the driver’s seat, smile, and say, “I love you, Ginny,” what would my response be? It’s human to want to protest on some level, to feel totally unworthy. But it’s far better to be like my little boy, and to respond with a simple, “Yes.”
Because if we can truly believe in that divine love, if we can fully accept it without resistance or argument — well, I can’t help but feel that we’d all have the confidence to change the world, for good.