Last night, I had the apartment to myself while my suitemates were at practice, so I curled up on the couch hearing the light-switches click and beep. I kid you not. Last year I complained about the air conditioner claiming to be 74 and really being 52. This year the light switches are going to be the death of me. Every single one of them in the entire apartment is motion sensored. They click to announce, "I see you" which is really fun when you walk past the bathroom and the sensor sees your movement in the mirror. What's more fun is when you roll over in bed in the middle of the night and the light becomes a self-appointed wake-up call. Thanks. If you somehow manage to sit still long enough they go "beep, beep, beep" to see if you still exist. If you haven't proved your existence by the third "beep, beep, beep," the light goes off.
I digress. I wrote this last night as a reflection and I don't want to post it. Even though I blog a lot, there's a lot that I write that doesn't get posted, and I was content to adding this to the pages that will forever remain in the Writer's Notebook. You see, it's kind of a nostalgic, vulnerable post, so be nice. <>< Katie
Max Lucado recommends allowing a child to take you for a walk every day. On said walk you're supposed to let the child lead, listen to his/her thoughts on situations, and grow closer to understanding what Christ means when He says we should come like children.
I'm not really at a position in my life right now where I interact with a lot of children. Andy doesn't really count. That means I have to search for my child stories. Often times I search no further than church.
The other Sunday, I was standing in the sacristy with the other communion servers for the day. In walked a mother and three kids. All three of them ran directly to their father. The father stopped the conversation and greeted each of his children with a kiss and a complement. First his daughter, he kissed her on the back of the hand. He asked if she had new lotion because her hands were soft. Next, his middle son, he greeted with a kiss on the top of the head and a complement on his shirt. His took his youngest son in his arms and kissed him on the cheek. "You smell nice. You got a bath." I can say beyond the shadow of a doubt, that father loves his kids. You could see his face light up when they walked into the room. Even though she did not get a kiss at this moment, that husband loves his wife. I love the simplicity and intentionality of this exchange.
The following Sunday, a different family invited me over for lunch. After we ate, the ten year old crawled into her father's lap. For awhile, she listened silently to the adults' conversation. Then she began to ask questions. All of us adults looked at each other almost as if we were jealous of her naïveté, simple-mindedness, and "innocent" questions. We weren't jealous of her father and his struggle to accurately yet appropriately answer her inquiries. You could hear in his voice, his enunciation that he was amused yet challenged.
I want that relationship with my Heavenly Father. I want to be aware of the pure joy of being in each others' presence. I want to see the sparkle in His when we talk. I want to sit in His lap and ask as many questions as I'd like, and I want to hear Him patiently answer every last one of them. I want to be that child where reality and worry don't overpower faith. If that's is the desire of my heart, then what am I doing to grow closer to obtaining it?