I stepped into their living room. I'd only be there for a minute as this was just a stop to pick up my daughter on our way to another destination. She held my grandson as she opened the door, and I saw no one else in the room. I talked to him, baby talk, a silly, high-pitched voice reserved only for those who have yet to celebrate their first birthday. He gave me one of his lady-killer smiles. Just then his daddy walked into the room and said, "aren't you going to say hi to Grammy?" Now, my grandson is, of course, advanced for his age (he's a two-fisted carrot-eater among countless other talents), but to say, "hi, Grammy" at six months is beyond even him. I followed my son-in-law's gaze and found that there was someone else in the room.
She stood there quietly - in the corner by her toys and books. I hadn't seen her, but she had seen me. She was watching and waiting patiently for me to notice her. I hunkered down and squealed in delight. She was smiling at me - a shy smile, an ear-to-ear-twinkle-in-her-eyes smile, a blushing smile. She was in that moment of dubiousness that is the hallmark of first moments with friends not seen regularly, that moment of testing the waters, that moment of wondering, "do we still have what we had last time we were together?" She wasn't sure. She doesn't see me everyday.
She wasn't ready to come to me on her own, but her smile told me everything I needed to know. I reached out and scooped up my granddaughter in my arms. We twirled and tickled and giggled. The shy moment was gone, but now I had to leave. I'd just been there to pick up my daughter after all. Five hours later though, we returned. Now there was no uncertainty. I belonged to her. She wouldn't let me go; didn't want me to put her down. We didn't even have to do anything together. She just wanted to be in my arms, on my lap, held within my embrace. Someone touched her leg. She said, "no!" and pulled away, tucking herself more firmly against me. This typically non-cuddly nineteen month old wanted to cuddle with me and, as is her trademark personality trait, wasn't about to let anyone or anything stop her.
Besides turning my heart into a living, beating, blob of melted goo, she made me wonder . . . is this how God sees us? When we hesitate to go to Him for whatever reason, does He squat down to our level and then scoop us up in His huge, powerful arms - those same arms that hold the world in place and set the stars in the sky? Does He hold us and twirl us around in delight? Does my smile thrill His heart?
For my part, do I find such joy in His embrace that I refuse to let go? Do I say an immediate and absolute "no!" to anything or anyone that would dare try distract me from Him or come between us? Unfortunately, I can answer that question all too easily - no, I don't. Not only do I suffer from chronic soul amnesia (see March 7 post), I suffer from soul ADD.
Yet I have hope that by His patient love, His grace, mercy, and kindness, I'm going to grow up to be just like my granddaughter: I'll bury myself in His embrace, and when the cares of life vie for my attention, I'm going to say a firm and adamant, "no!" and snuggle in all the closer.
She stood there quietly - in the corner by her toys and books. I hadn't seen her, but she had seen me. She was watching and waiting patiently for me to notice her. I hunkered down and squealed in delight. She was smiling at me - a shy smile, an ear-to-ear-twinkle-in-her-eyes smile, a blushing smile. She was in that moment of dubiousness that is the hallmark of first moments with friends not seen regularly, that moment of testing the waters, that moment of wondering, "do we still have what we had last time we were together?" She wasn't sure. She doesn't see me everyday.
She wasn't ready to come to me on her own, but her smile told me everything I needed to know. I reached out and scooped up my granddaughter in my arms. We twirled and tickled and giggled. The shy moment was gone, but now I had to leave. I'd just been there to pick up my daughter after all. Five hours later though, we returned. Now there was no uncertainty. I belonged to her. She wouldn't let me go; didn't want me to put her down. We didn't even have to do anything together. She just wanted to be in my arms, on my lap, held within my embrace. Someone touched her leg. She said, "no!" and pulled away, tucking herself more firmly against me. This typically non-cuddly nineteen month old wanted to cuddle with me and, as is her trademark personality trait, wasn't about to let anyone or anything stop her.
Besides turning my heart into a living, beating, blob of melted goo, she made me wonder . . . is this how God sees us? When we hesitate to go to Him for whatever reason, does He squat down to our level and then scoop us up in His huge, powerful arms - those same arms that hold the world in place and set the stars in the sky? Does He hold us and twirl us around in delight? Does my smile thrill His heart?
For my part, do I find such joy in His embrace that I refuse to let go? Do I say an immediate and absolute "no!" to anything or anyone that would dare try distract me from Him or come between us? Unfortunately, I can answer that question all too easily - no, I don't. Not only do I suffer from chronic soul amnesia (see March 7 post), I suffer from soul ADD.
Yet I have hope that by His patient love, His grace, mercy, and kindness, I'm going to grow up to be just like my granddaughter: I'll bury myself in His embrace, and when the cares of life vie for my attention, I'm going to say a firm and adamant, "no!" and snuggle in all the closer.
Precious.
ReplyDeleteI sure thought so :-)
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