Just a Minute

I was rummaging through my purse for a donation in exchange for my bowl of grapes and half bagel at my Baptist church's breakfast bar.  They let us (encourage us even) eat during the service.

I looked up and saw a little brown-haired boy on the other side of the table helping himself to the donut holes.

When I called his name, he looked up. He lit up.

Then he hesitated, embarrassed by the sparkle in his eye as he tried to restrain himself from leaping over the table and attaching himself to me.

Instead I invited him to come hug me. (I would have begged, but I knew it wasn't necessary). We both abandoned our breakfasts; I knelt as he rocketed around the table. He wrapped his arms around my neck, and I scooped him into my arms. Neither of us said a word. Neither of us wanted to let go. I was pretty sure I was going to have a seven-year-old-sized growth on my side for the rest of the service.

Life is made up of moments just like this. Compassion's president Wess Stafford wrote a book about how it takes just a minute to change the life of a child.

How often do we turn to children begging for our attention and say, "Just a minute" as we try to finish up whatever project is, in that moment, more important than the child?

What if you tried something different.  Instead of "just a minute"-ing, you took just a minute to invest in a child. It makes a difference in his or her life, and I'd be willing to bet it makes a difference in yours, too.

Just a minute. It matters.

I don't get to spend a lot of time with children. I cherish the minutes I get to be trampled by fifty children trying to hug me simultaneously, be the human jungle gym, or be a galloping horsey.

What a precious gift for both parties involved. (The bruises are definitely worth it).

As adults, we have so much to give children. At the same time, we have so much to learn. It takes just a minute. But it makes a difference that last long beyond a sixty-second hug.

Learning to embrace the little moments with little people,
<>< Katie

Moving Mountains & What If Questions

During church, we were doing an illustration about moving mountains.
"God will move the mountain if we're willing to put in our shovel," Pastor Rob explained.

To demonstrate this, the entire congregation got up in an unorganized communion-style line and proceeded to the front where we used a playground shovel to move some sand from a litter-box like mountain to a new box.  It was actually really powerful.

While we were in line, out of my peripheral vision I saw this kid flailing.  I didn't think much of it because I grew up in a church with a lot of (sometimes unruly) kids.  You learn to ignore them.

"Katie."

I turned.  Those flailing legs belonged to my favorite six year old.  When I turned and opened my arms, my buddy took a leap of faith and jumped into my arms.  I talked to him a bit as we walked to the front of the church, but he wasn't interested in conversation.  He just wanted to be held.

I think it's illegal to walk like a normal person when you are carrying a child.  We danced down the aisle.  Yes, I danced in a Baptist church.  And I didn't care what everyone else thought.  I was focused on my buddy.

We got to the front of the church and I shifted him to my right hip.  He shoveled his sand, and I did the same awkwardly with my left (nondominant) hand.

I went back to my seat, (temporarily) kidnapping Buddy.  He worshipped with us for the rest of the service.  I don't know that I've ever worshipped with a young child without his/her parents in the same pew.  It was weird.  Cool weird!

After church, our "Self Imposed Minster of Coffee" caught me.
SIMC: I saw you got yourself a child today.
Katie: I did!
SIMC: Where'd he come from?
Katie: He kind fell from the sky and into my arms.
SIMC: No, really, whose kid was he?

What if we were willing to take a leap of faith and jump into the arms of God? 
What if we just allowed our Abba Father to hold us, to carry us?
What if we danced like no one was watching?
What if no opinions mattered except for the Lord's?
What if we were willing to be used to move mountains, even when it's awkward and uncomfortable?
What if we shared our pew with others, even if it's a bit strange?
What if our posture and attitude change with God's presence in our lives?

When I was carrying my buddy, I no longer mattered.  Everyone wanted to know where the random kid came from.  As a Christian, I no longer matter.  I want everyone to know about God.

Going from "Katie the college student" to "Katie the college student carrying a random child" was an obvious change.  Is the change from "Katie that girl" to "God's daughter Katie" as obvious?  What if people saw that kind of change in me?  What if they asked where it came from? 

It fell from the sky.  It was all God.
<>< Katie