I feel like I really liked Elsa up until about two weeks ago.
Recently, things have been challenging. Not so much because of the
sleeping, the eating, or even the crawling…but because of the needing. She seems to fancy little else
than me. I can’t make reason to it, but
perhaps now that she is mobile she likes the fact that she can “come get me”
any time; perhaps she sees now that she truly is a different person than me and
is adjusting to this reality; or perhaps she simply wants to be with me. She
likes me. She needs me. And she is, as far as we can determine, a deeply wired
extrovert (more on that another time). Not to negate the relational essence
born within us all, we just think Elsa may have a hefty relational capacity.
Last week was simply exhausting. I cannot make my breakfast without
dodging around her little hands and feet begging for me to pick her up. She
climbs up on my legs and screams. Many times I pick her up, but sometimes I
just need to, oh, eat, brush my teeth, pee. Nothin’ fancy here, just regular
life stuff. It is difficult to determine
what she wants and she is whinier than ever before. All this plus this
inability to do (what feels like) anything is, frankly, starting to wear on me.
I enjoy time alone to think, pray, read, write. I like to have a little, you
know, s p a c e. I have relationships where I am vulnerable
and honest…it’s not that I am not trying to hide; I merely desire space to
disengage or engage to my comfort level whenever I want to... Is that so much
to ask?
Apparently the answer is “yes.” And let me tell you, I have a rotten
attitude about it. Rot-ten. No two ways about it. If you desire confirmation,
please reference Jeff. He can certainly affirm this about me lately. He joyfully
comes home last Friday evening for his weekend to a wife frustrated, angry and
passing him a baby saying something about how going to work must feel like a vacation. No joy. No grace. And certainly, no dinner. Just hear about my crummy day and somehow make
me happy (though we all know this is a near impossible demand to meet with so
much rotting from within). We manage
through the weekend. I sleep in both days with daddy-super-powers taking care
of Elsa. By 9am on Sunday morning, I was up and ready to enjoy the day,
meanwhile Jeff collapses on the bed after putting Elsa down for her nap.
Something deep inside me felt vindicated. “It’s tough sh-t, isn’t it?” I say
with a smile. “Uh-huh” rolls off his lips mingling with the drool as the drifts
off to sleep. There’s just no other way to say it right now.
About two hours later we are sitting in church when Father Stewart
gets up to preach. He’s using that verse
about children and the Kingdom of God. That one from Matthews Gospel in chapter
19 where Jesus says, “Let the children come to me, and do not stop them, for
the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.” With the Great Teacher Jesus being
in town, many parents were bringing infants, toddlers, and probably older
children to for Jesus to bless them (a very important thing in that culture).
The disciples were none-too-happy about this. They were trying to keep them away.
You can read above how Jesus responds. This
is not just a PR moment for Jesus. (If you read the whole of his Gospels, you
may have gathered he isn’t much for PR anyhow.) What he is doing is living the
Kingdom, and telling us how to do the same. These are not just cute, innocent
children. The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to them. Whoa. That is a big statement.
Weighty. A, hey, catch this, listen up, pay attention sort of statement. (Not
to mention there is no mention of the innocence of children anywhere in
Scripture, there is even mention to the opposite.) It is the openness, the
desire, the I-trust-you-and-just-want-to-be-with-you childlikeness to which Jesus is
pointing us. This, he says, this is essential to the Kingdom.
Great. I am utterly guilty. I
despise this very part of my daughter right now. When she screams, inwardly I do, too. So, I could hear this sermon and put my mind in an-okay-time-to-try-harder
place at home. Knowing full well my attitude has not budged; I could merely
feel the burden of obedience rather than the joy of submission.
But I won’t settle for this. I know this is a relationship with a
Living God, not a “faith” to which I complacently offer my intellectual ascent.
Ok, (my attitude begins to begrudgingly bloom)…what do you want to say to me here,
God? Help me. Pick me up…
I get the sense within (not an audible voice) that the moments Elsa
cries out for me…let those be moments for me to remember my own childlikeness. My own
need for God. To remember my soul really
does cry out for the closeness of the Only God who ever came near. I feel this challenge deep.
Now almost 24 hours since I have heard this call from the Spirit of a
Very Near God, I find myself longing to submit. I cried as Jeff and I prayed
last night…Oh God, help me see her, love her…like her. I have opportunity even
as I type this…she is waking, she calling to me. She is breaking into my
oh-so-precious space I call “my own.” But the call I need to remember that my
life is not my own as I follow Christ. And that to be in the Kingdom is a call
to go deeper than I want, on terms I don’t want to sign off on. Sometimes, I
simply don’t want to be transformed at that deeper place. I wish to stay
disengaged, aloof at my computer while she eats, reading a book on the ground
while she plays. As I offer my will in submission to the One who is bringing
the Kingdom of Heaven here on Earth, I find I am moving, ironically, into
childlikeness…and away from childishness.
Oh, God have mercy on me.
Where is it that God is asking you to replace your childish attitude
with a childlike heart?
