I read of a preacher who once ministered to young parents who had a baby isolated in the quarantine section of a children’s hospital in Los Angeles. The infant was dangerously susceptible to infection. To visit the parents, he had to don protective clothing and walk down a long hall constructed of plastic tarps.
The baby, a girl, had been placed in a small hospital bed, also surrounded by plastic, and cut off from the outside world. Her parents had not held or touched her in months.
The preacher wondered how in the world baby could feel the love of her parents. The mother showed him. She inserted her hands and arms into a specially constructed plastic mold, which formed sleeves and hands. The mother then picked up the baby and cradled the child in her two arms. She leaned over, placed her lips on the plastic, and gave the tiny one a kiss. After the kiss, she rocked the baby back and forth. That mother’s flesh never touched the baby; still, the infant felt her presence and her love.
It occurred to the minister that our relationship with God is like that. We can't see God, we can't touch God, but we can feel his presence and his love, just as that baby felt the presence and love of her mother.