He's only six years old, but he taught me a pretty big lesson, and in a pretty vivid way.
Hey everybody, yes, I know, it's been quite a while since our last update - but we're still alive and kicking down here. The semester's going full swing - so there's been plenty to keep us busy, and, as usual, life passes in a whirl. "Oh yeah... the blog..."
Last night my wife and I were running a little bit late heading to church. We got there with about 5 minutes to spare, and grabbed a couple of empty seats in the section we usually sit in. In the row in front of us was a little six-year-old that I'll call Sam. Sam is six, and he's got the frame of a six-year-old, but it's a very small frame for a kid his age - so he's wound up with very fine, delicate features - a cute kid, to be sure. Sam's folks had left him there to hold the seats while they took care of something outside of the auditorium, so he was sitting there by himself waiting for them to come back. Our section was pretty full, so he was surrounded by a mass of people that he didn't know as he peered anxiously toward the back door, hoping for some sign of Mom and Dad. A college girl next to us tried to engage him in conversation - but he gave her monosyllabic answers and continued fretfully peering toward the back door. Then his face started changing; all of the worry inside began to mount and build as we neared the time church was to start, and his little face began to twist up in emotional agony. It was enough to rip your heart out; he was starting to cry and he was surrounded by people he didn't know and he didn't know what to do. He would shoot a tormented glance toward the back, then his little body would shake in agitation - another glance, another shake. It was too much to stand just watching the little fellow experiencing complete agony, so I told him (in what I hoped was a highly reassuring tone), "It's ok, Sam, they're coming. It'll be fine; they'll be here." Of course I wasn't extremely comforting since I also rank in the catagory of complete stranger; so I didn't help much. My wife leaned forward and asked him "Do they know you're sitting here?" "Yes," he responded. "Then they're coming. It'll be fine. Don't worry." Then his agonized question: "What's taking them so long?" Teri really didn't know what to say, so she said "I don't know, but they're coming, don't worry." At that point a kindly lady from a few rows back came up and sat down with him since the church service was starting and she tried to distract him with the hymn. Right after we started singing, his parents came down the aisle and to their seats - and *CLING* he was stuck to his mom. A short time of readjustment, a little nose blowing, and he was fine.
It was enough to rip your heart out - he was holding the heartstrings of the four people behind him in his little hand - but the situation really spoke to me because I saw myself in Sam's situation. I do this exact same routine with God. I'm sitting there, surrounded by a mass of troubled humanity, peering anxiously toward the back door. "Is He coming? Does He know I'm here? When is He going to fix my problem? What's taking Him so long?" I don't see Him when I think I should, so I resort to agitation and worry. I was thinking about things I could've said to reason with Sam. "Sam, did your parents tell you they were coming back?" "Yes." "If they told you they're coming back then you don't have to worry about it, because you know they are. All you have to do is wait for them." "Nick, did God tell you that He would provide for your needs?" "Yes." "Then you don't have to worry about how or when He's going to do it. All you have to do is wait."
Out of the mouths of babes, right? Sam didn't verbally give me a lesson, but he sure showed me one.
God bless you all,
Nick
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