It happens every night around eight o'clock. Lily has finished her dinner. She's been cleaned up and has slurped every last drop from an 8 ounce bottle of milk while I've changed her diaper and have managed to wrangle chubby arms and legs into uncooperative pajamas. Then I pick her up, plop my tired body into the rocking chair and wait for that divine moment.

Most nights she fights it. Quite literally. She bangs on my chest, pulls my hair, sheds tears of frustration, anything to distance herself from the ever approaching quiet of sleep. Every few nights she succombs peacefully though. Finishing the last dregs of her bottle she thrusts it away and plops her tender head against my chest, slowly closing her eyes as I sing lullabyes and prayers softly in the dark.

I feel the heaviness of her sleeping body in my arms, and her warmth as she lays on me. That's the divine moment when I feel the absolute love of God wash over me and I say to myself, This is what His love towards us feels like. This nightly ritual reminds me that I am the child resting in my Father's arms. And though I rage and fight against Him, though I sometimes beat Him with my fists and cry bitter tears, I can't help but finally succomb to His all-encompassing love. And in the bosom of the God most high I rest my head and am washed in his love as He holds onto me.