Love, Asleep in My Arms: The Catholic Mission of a Godparent

A peaceful moment with a sleeping goddaughter became a profound reflection on grace, prayer, witness and the love of God for one new godfather.

(Photo provided)

A warm November day might be rare in Denver, but in Florida, it’s to be expected. But even as November days go, this was a perfect one. It was sunny and temperate, there was a light breeze, and my four-month-old goddaughter, newly baptized, was asleep on my chest.

I sat quietly on my mom’s screened-in porch, admiring the paddling of ducks she’d assembled through her generous bird feedings and praying a Rosary as Emerie snoozed. (I’m told you have to take advantage of prayer time wherever you can with little ones around!)

Amid peaceful baby snores and random quacks, I couldn’t help but think: life can’t get better than this.

This recovering grinch, whose heart also grew three-and-a-half sizes in an instant upon meeting this blessed little one, had his heart broken open anew. This time, not in the excitement or fanfare but rather in the quiet of a godfather’s new mission settling in.

For the rest of my life, my mission is to pray for, support, witness to and love this newly minted daughter of God, for the rest of my life with even just a measure of the love God has for her.

As I sat there, silently telling my Rosary beads in my mind for fear the sound or the motion would awaken my peacefully content goddaughter — literally praying over her and for her — one thing became clear: God loves her more.

And that realization floored me even more. The intense, protective, joy-filled love I have for sweet Emerie is unlike anything I’ve ever known. But as much as my heart overflows with love for her, how much more the Father’s does!

My love, as overwhelming as it feels, is imperfect, sinful and failing. God, who is all-perfect and all-good, loves her more. He called her into existence from the beginning of time. He suffered, died and rose for her.

But thanks be to God, it’s not a competition. Rather, my godfatherly mission is a collaboration with grace.

In addition to her parents, it’s my job to ensure, by my words and my actions, that Emerie knows that she is loved beyond measure, from all eternity and down to the present moment — right now, amid this particular snore. It’s my job to make sure she knows that the same God who has loved her from all ages is also present in the Eucharist, waiting for her to know him and receive him. It’s my job to pray fervently for her and with her, introducing her to that Love beyond all telling. It’s my job to show her even more than tell her of these heavenly realities so that she believes them even to the core of her very being.

Therein lies the mission of the godparent: in love, in witness and in prayer.

Ever since Emerie was born, I’ve had a glimpse into the Heart of God, burning for love of us.

If St. John can write, “God is love” (see 1 John 4:7-21), I can now see it. I can now hold love in my arms. In fact, she just shifted in her sleep. Not long ago, she spit up on me for the first time.

Thanks be to God, for the rest of my life, I’ll have a front-row seat to that kind of love. It may only be a feeble glimpse of the love of God, though it be all I can muster, but I’ll be forever grateful for this new mission.