“Well, I have to be in the room; someone has to catch Jimmy when he passes out!”
For nine months the jokes and comments flowed freely, particularly from my unrelenting sisters-in-law. Although I never quite confirmed it, sources tell me that there was an is-Jimmy-going-to-pass-out option alongside the baby pool (for the record, I had August 6 and “no”).
If you haven’t figured it out yet, my wife and I have been preparing for the birth of our first baby throughout the first months of 2014. My squeamish reputation for blood and bodily fluids preceded me, hence the good-natured ribbing. My wife lovingly (I think) commented that she didn’t think it was a good idea for me to be in the delivery room.
I was fairly confident that I wasn’t going to pass out, but I’d never had a front-row seat to a childbirth before, so I honestly had no idea how I’d react.
I’ll remember the moment the rest of my life. On August 7 I was in our morning leadership huddle at the hospital. Suddenly my phone buzzed with the text I’d been waiting for.
Jimmy, I need you to come get me. I’m having regular contractions.
I not so subtly rushed out of the meeting room and zipped home to my ready-to-burst wife.
The next eight hours were a bit of a blur, to say the least. I remember doing a lot of pacing, texting, hand-holding, and encouraging. At 8:14 p.m. the healthy baby boy—Lincoln James Phillips—made his debut, weighing in at a solid eight pounds eight ounces.
There’s so much I could say about the experience and subsequent first week of being a dad. But one thing stands out above all else: at no point in the process was I anything close to disgusted or grossed out. The blood, the dirty diapers, the undetermined substances on my neatly pressed shirt—none of it affected, irritated, or otherwise bothered me.
What seemed a bit unpleasant when it came to other people’s kids didn’t translate to my own experience. When I look at Lincoln, I don’t see the imperfections and messes. Overwhelming love for my son supersedes all else.
There are terms, concepts, and verses in the Christian experience that have been overused. In fact, probably the most well-known verse in the Bible has been so infused into mainstream culture that most people, Christians and non-Christians alike, have become desensitized to its true significance.
I mean, have you actually stopped to read John 3:16 lately? Or do you just gloss over it, knowing you have it committed to memory and can whip it out at any time?
Do me a favor. Stop and read it slowly, without skipping ahead. “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”
Think about that. God loves us so much that He voluntarily watched His only Son go through excruciating pain in total isolation and darkness. At the heart of this sacrifice is God’s role as heavenly Father—our Father.
If you have kids, reflect on how much you love them. There’s probably nothing you wouldn’t do for them, even sacrificing your own life if you had to. But God loves us infinitely more than we love our own children. In fact, our minds can’t comprehend the all-encompassing, never-ending, comprehensive love of God.
As a new father who loves his son more than anything, I’m finding that that hits home in a fresh way.
We may have made all sorts of messes in our lives: the adult equivalent of dirty diapers and tainted bodily fluids. But when God sees us, that’s not what He sees (note: that’s not an excuse to stay that way; see Rom. 6:1, 2).
He sees His beloved son or daughter; His child for whom He would do—did do—anything. God is our Father. We can’t outrun or out-sin His love; it’s the very foundation of His character (1 John 4:8).
Think about that today and every day.
