Lessons from Johanna

Last week I spent three days in St. Louis visiting my brother, his wife, and their nine-month-old daughter, Johanna.

I do not consider myself to be a “kid person.” I don’t dream of someday living in a little house filled with baby bottles, rocking horses, and copies of Goodnight Moon. I don’t ooh and ahh and coo over infants or make a fuss over the cute little socks or precious tiny dresses when I walk past the baby section of Target. Truth be told, when a baby enters the room I’m more likely to become uncomfortable than to reach for it with eager arms.

I think I lack maternal instincts.

I was a little worried about this when I first visited my niece a month or so after she was born. I feared that my unease around her (and babies in general) would offend my brother’s wife or hinder a future relationship with Johanna Ruth Kuehn; the realtionship that might exist after she had developed the capability for rational thought (thereby making her “safe” for me to interact with). Fortunately my mom and sister were visiting as well, and between the two of them there is enough motherly affection to satisfy a nursery full of children.

The “grandmother factor” was present on Thanksgiving and Christmas as well, meaning I could continue to admire my niece from a distance. There was a safe place to pass her off or return her when she started crying, drooling, or otherwise fussing. This past week, however, Aunt Amanda was on her own with little Jo Ru.

Similar to our first encounter, my niece and I spent a good portion of time staring at each other, wondering who (and perhaps even what) was starting back. I was surprised by her helplessness - her inability to wipe her nose, transport herself, or procure her own food. I was surprised by her ignorance - her inability to understand where we were going or why she needed to be strapped into her stroller. And I was surprised by her defiance – her refusal to behave during church, finish her breakfast or go down for a nap. But most of all, I was surprised by my affection for this squawking, chirping, cooing, crying little creature.

I do not love Johanna because she is gentle or beautiful or kind. I do not love her because of what she provides for me or the way that she impacts my life. I love her simply because she exists, and because – to some extent - she is mine. I reflect on this and realize that this is love the way that God loves us, the way that he loves me. He is not surprised by my helplessness, my ignorance, or my defiance. He has likely become accustomed to such things from me. And despite them all he is overcome with affection for me – the grumbling, complaining, rejoicing, confusing creature that I am. He does not love me because of what I can do for him, which is really nothing at all. He loves me simply because I exist, because I am his.

Even at nine months old, I suppose my niece has something to teach me.