Yesterday, Solomon approached me holding a plastic bracelet that looked like it was freshly-swiped right out of his older sister’s room. It also looked like the 1,000,001 other trinkets made somewhere in Taiwan that occupy our home. I’m certain we could open a carnival stand in our garage and have enough prizes to award the entire neighborhood with a trinket – win or lose. But I digress.
Eyes blazing with the excitement of his freshly-found loot, he furrowed his brow and began to work fervently on forcing the lime green ring around his chubby, 21 month old arm.
“Here buddy, let me help you,” I told him.
I placed my hand around the bracelet in an attempt to wiggle it up his arm. I was trying to help him for crying out loud but he was having none of it.
He furrowed his brow further, dug in his heels and pulled right back. It was a stand-off. He had completely misunderstood my intentions. He thought I was trying to take the bracelet away.
I pulled back and tried to explain in a gentle voice that I was merely trying to help. I wasn’t going to take it. It was his to keep – I just wanted to help him get the bracelet on his little arm so he could go on his merry way and fulfill the other things that were on his “toddler to-do list” for the day.
That’s when it hit me.
I heard God say, “Kinda reminds me of you and me, eh?”
I was humbled because of course it was metaphorical of my relationship with God.
He pulls to assist me – He doesn’t plan to necessarily take away though I know He will if he deems it to be necessary. He simply wants to help because His love for us is that of a parent’s love for their child. He wants to make things a little bit easier. Sure there’s a set of laws to live by but our God? He’s our Father. He wants to help us just like I want to help little Solomon.
He looks at us struggling, trying to figure it out on our own, and must be thinking “There’s such an easier way, my dear one. Here, let me help you.”
Then we dig in our heels, furrow our brows and pull back. We think our way is the right way. It’s about us, sure. But it’s really about fear.
And me? Guilty as charged.
Surrendering is just so darn hard. It’s placing complete and utter trust in something we cannot see, feel, smell, taste, or touch. But that, my friends, is called faith.
Solomon eventually surrendered to his “older and wiser” mama. He saw that I just wanted to help and he allowed me to do so. He then happily ran away with the lime green ring around his arm and proceeded to proudly show off his treasure to his older brother and sister.
He had things to do. His day was full. However, unbeknownst to him, he had just provided a much-needed reminder for his mama.
Funny how God teaches us through our children.
What about you? Do you struggle with surrendering or is it just me?
“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” Hebrews 11:1