Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you

Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?

Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me. Isaiah 49:15

Ah, a verse I get.  I understand this one with all that I am.  My children do not even have to be of my womb and I carry them engraved on the palms of my hands.  I totally realized this yesterday evening at some hippie bar woven together from old VW parts and vintage door frames- playing old time rock n roll with a belting bluesy woman up front– wonder why it was selected from all the music joints in Austin for Mr. Voelkel?

Anyway, as I watched Ali twist in his familiar way and turn to explain an important point to his father Hussein, I knew what it means to carry him engraved on the palm of my hand.  Or the broad smile that fills me to hear Mateo’s voice on that silly little cell phone that never works.  Or the roses on the dining room table from Max and Andrea.  Or the gChat query from Heather: hey how's your day going today? Why is Marco posting an alligator story on Facebook?  Yes please Cameron the door is open. Chaska sends me suggested summer reading.  The beat goes on.  

And I am His nursing child.  Wrapped in His protective arm, His smile as He watches my least flicker because I am beautiful.  Not because of cleverness or goodness or charm, but  from the body of my mother He named my name.  He knew me and formed me from the womb to be His servant.  

This is the compassion in which I can rest, for the Lord who is faithful has chosen me.  

Selah.