Over Christmas break, my first grader had an assignment that he (and his parents) forgot about. He was supposed to read, 10 different times, for 20 minutes each. For me, this is child's play. I knew he could get this done in one night, so he could earn his reward in school the next day (hot chocolate).
I've been to college. I've written 10-page papers after working the night shift at the restaurant. Coffee in one hand and a half-baked, barely sufficient paper in the other. I've written book reports on books that I've "read." We all know what it's like to cram for a test.
For my first grader, however, this was a mountain. He might as well have been climbing Matterhorn.
My emotional boy crumbled, because his classmates had turned their assignments in early, securing their hot chocolate as a reward. He lost hope and had descended into a dry-heaving cry on the couch. "I'll never get it done! I'm so stupid! Everyone is smarter than me!"
They didn't prepare me for this in college.
Throughout the afternoon, I had moments of parental heroics, where I coached him to see how possible this task was. Other times, in frustration, I gave up, too.
We argued for a minute about how his Mommy and Daddy think he's so smart. And he wasn't having it. "No I'm not! I'm stupid!" In that moment, I got down on my knees and positioned my face right in front of his to reassure him how that was so far from the truth. His response: "You're wrong."
I wonder if we do this with God sometimes?
Let's be real: it would probably make more sense to refer to me as a grown-up child than an adult. Some days, I forget how much my Heavenly Father loves me. I tend to forget the things that He's said about me (chosen, loved, adopted). I can easily forget His promises over me ("I will never leave you or forsake you").
I wonder what God's response is in all this? I picture Him as a perfect Father, who doesn't lose His cool with me (like I did with Kipton). But then again, there's a place for righteous frustration.
I find it hopeful that God would stop everything to get down on His hands and knees, the hands that crafted the sun, moon and stars as well as my cold & stony heart, just to focus my eyes on His.
“But I love when God pauses to get right in front of my face to reassure me of what Dad thinks.”
There is definitely something to be said for the still, small voice, found in Elijah's story. But I love when God pauses to get right in front of my face to reassure me of what Dad thinks.
Whatever you're walking through today, wherever you are, I hope that you find space to cry out to God with what you're walking through. Because here's what I learned: When my son eventually calmed down and we walked through the next step together, he was able to see what I could see. That he wasn't stupid or incapable. He just needed to vent to his daddy a little.
Oh. I almost forgot to tell you. My little boy crushed his homework assignment. And with every book he finished, he rushes in to share the win with me.
And I wouldn't have missed that experience with my son for the whole world.