She heard the loud rumble of the street sweeper before she saw the massive machine's steady progress towards her. At eighteen months, she was understandably frightened. She sensed danger. She sensed power far greater than hers. She turned to run, but my daughter grabbed her little hand and stopped her.
"Look at me." She told the frightened toddler, but the toddler refused. Her fear was too great. Her only thought was that of getting away, getting far away from that thing, that monster coming at them. My daughter persisted, "E, look at me." She squatted down to be at her level and turned her ward so that she had no choice but to look. The child stopped struggling and looked straight into her guardian's eyes. Having her full attention now, my daughter said to her, "You are okay. You're okay. The street sweeper is not going to get us. It is not going to come up on the sidewalk. We're safe. It will come close to us, but it won't hurt us. You're okay."
As my daughter described to me this little vignette of her day, I couldn't help but think of how many times God must say that to us over the course of our lives, but we, like E, can only see the object of our fear as it comes closer. We can only see that which threatens our security, our stability, our current way of life, our resources, our happiness. We may pray about it, talk to God about it, but as we do, I think most of the time, we're focused on the roar and power of the street sweeper as it closes in on us. We may talk to God, but our hearts are engaged elsewhere. We don't necessarily want to pray like that. We want to be fully present with God, but our fear is too great.
Yet in our trials, our fear, and our pain, He holds us. He says to us, "Look at Me with your heart: You are okay. You're okay. It will come close to you, but it won't hurt you."
. . . and if we would just believe Him, believe His words, what would our days be like? Would we finally walk in that "peace that passes understanding?" I don't know for sure, but I'd really like to give it a try and let you know.
"Look at me." She told the frightened toddler, but the toddler refused. Her fear was too great. Her only thought was that of getting away, getting far away from that thing, that monster coming at them. My daughter persisted, "E, look at me." She squatted down to be at her level and turned her ward so that she had no choice but to look. The child stopped struggling and looked straight into her guardian's eyes. Having her full attention now, my daughter said to her, "You are okay. You're okay. The street sweeper is not going to get us. It is not going to come up on the sidewalk. We're safe. It will come close to us, but it won't hurt us. You're okay."
As my daughter described to me this little vignette of her day, I couldn't help but think of how many times God must say that to us over the course of our lives, but we, like E, can only see the object of our fear as it comes closer. We can only see that which threatens our security, our stability, our current way of life, our resources, our happiness. We may pray about it, talk to God about it, but as we do, I think most of the time, we're focused on the roar and power of the street sweeper as it closes in on us. We may talk to God, but our hearts are engaged elsewhere. We don't necessarily want to pray like that. We want to be fully present with God, but our fear is too great.
Yet in our trials, our fear, and our pain, He holds us. He says to us, "Look at Me with your heart: You are okay. You're okay. It will come close to you, but it won't hurt you."
. . . and if we would just believe Him, believe His words, what would our days be like? Would we finally walk in that "peace that passes understanding?" I don't know for sure, but I'd really like to give it a try and let you know.
Comments
Post a Comment