Do you ever have those moments where God uses your kids (or anything else for that matter) to smack you upside the head with an object lesson? Well, this morning that happened to me, right there at the kitchen island after breakfast.
Cam and Kenzie had finished their Cheerios and were doodling in coloring books and dry erase boards while I puttered around the kitchen, still trying to render myself fully awake (I may have mentioned before that I’m not a morning person. If you missed it, here that is.)
I wheeled around at the sound of an instantaneous cry of desperation from Kenzie.
“Can you fix it, my board?” She said tearily.
I walked over to the counter to find that her dry erase board had shed its pink plastic border, which didn’t impede the functionality at all but still feels like a crisis when you’re two and you think you’ve broken something.
“Sure, honey! I’ll bet I can fix that!” I replied reassuringly, as I walked over to where she was seated to take the board from her and commence the motherly magic that would restore her board to its glory and basically save her morning from the clutches of disaster. You know, like the superhero she still thinks I am.
Apparently Kenzie’s plan for getting the board fixed and mine did not jive.
“NONONONONONONO! No teekee board!” She objected as I tried to take the board out of her hand to fix it.
OK, I thought to myself, sometimes we can fix things while they are still in the kids’ hands.
A quick assessment of the jigsaw puzzle of 8 separate pieces that made up the plastic border to this board led me to the conclusion that this was NOT one of those times.
“Honey,” I replied in exasperation, “I can’t fix it if you don’t let me have it.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, here came God with nudge and a chuckle, “YOU SEE?!?!?! DO YOU SEE HOW IT WORKS? I can’t fix it unless you let me have it #boomgoesthedynamite.” (I totally think God can use hashtags, by the way. I mean, why wouldn’t He? He abides in all things that are, have been, and are to come. #NoExceptions)
He also drew my mind to the DOZENS of times that similar things have happened with Mister Cameron, aka Clutch McGrabbyhands. Cam has always been insanely handsy and has to touch ALLTHETHINGS and learn everything about them. He wants to know how everything works, fix things himself, and it can be physically hard for him to let things go, even when it’s clear it needs a grownup’s touch, because he wants so badly to figure it out himself.
I wish I could say that this interaction with God yielded a broad-stroked epiphany, that I am forever changed, and I descended from the mountaintop with a stone tablet-worthy list of “Top Ten Failproof Ways to Surrender It All to God.” Wouldn’t that be nice? Unfortunately that is not so much the case. Not even a little bit.
What it did give me was yet another reminder of the importance of surrender- and also a loving and perfect acknowledgement that my Father in Heaven knows how hard that can be for me. He is infinitely more perfect and loving than we are, so as tender as I can feel toward Kenzie as she sat heartbroken over her fractured dry erase board, and toward Cam who just DESPERATELY wants to figure things out for himself, I can multiply that times infinity when I picture Him seeing me holding fractured and broken pieces that I just want to put back together somehow. As always, when God convicts me, it felt like a warm breeze that lifted me up on its wings even has it opened my eyes to a way I can do better in my walk with Him.
But it also came with what felt like the heavenly equivalent of that look I give Cam when I need him to know that I mean business. Like, “I love you so much, but SRSLY, you need to get on this.” I hadn’t figured on “surrender” as my word for this week- I’ve been much more focused on things like “diligence” and “perseverance” lately. But isn’t it just like God to sharpen my focus to something that is less about me and more about Him?
So, I’m going to go forth into this week focusing on surrender. Surrrrrrrrennnnnnnderrrrr. Let it roll off the tongue and sink into my heart. Relax. Sit back. Make like Elsa and let it go, knowing that as I let things pass out of my hands, they rise to infinitely more capable hands, hands that can make sense of things that to me are a jumble, hands that can bring order out of chaos and beauty from ashes, and hands that can tenderly and lovingly minister to my wounds and my needs as only a parent can. If I come up with any stone tablet-worthy epiphanies, I promise y’all will be the first to know- but don’t hold your breath 😉