Does God wish I'd get sick too? I thought as I held my daughter.
Jaana has never been a clingy child. Even as an infant, she didn't like to be held a lot. She loved her crib and her personal space. She doesn't snuggle much; she won't fall asleep on my shoulder when I hold her. It's just not who she is. As much as I've hated that, I've come to accept her for her, and absorb those clingy moments when I get them.
I spent the first year of her life wondering where she learned that. I'd watch her sleep fitfully in my arms, then peacefully in her crib—and marvel that God indeed is the Creator of all, because she didn't inherit that from me.
And yet as Jaana gets older, I've noticed there's one time when she is the clingy, lovey, snuggly baby I always wanted. It's when she's really sick. During those times, only I will do for her. She'll fall asleep on me, cuddle up with me on the couch, want to sleep with me at night.
I've become embarrassingly giddy when she comes down with a small illness—because I know that I'll finally get to love on her the way I know best. She'll simply rest in my arms and let me stroke her back. I totally pamper her, because she'll let me.
During one particularly bad time when she was two years old, she had a fever of 104 degrees and slept off and on in my arms all day. I soaked it up and at one point told God how grateful I was to have this moment. Almost immediately, I felt him speak to my spirit: Why don't you let me do that to you too? It was an overwhelmingly emotional moment frozen in my memory.1