God likes to teach me lessons in interesting ways. I don't know about you, but I need to see something to understand it. Reading about it doesn't work, listening to someone else talk about it doesn't work, but if you show me what you want me to know, then I'll finally get it.
God used my son the other night to teach me something. I think I shall call the lessons I learn from this little boy "The Gospel According to Lancelot." (Is that sacreligious in any way? I hope not...)
Lancelot was trying to crawl, as seen in the above photo. He's figured out that he needs to move his arms and his legs, but he hasn't figured out how to coordinate those movements in order to propel himself forward. Sometimes he pivots around on his tummy to where he's facing a different direction, but he doesn't actually go anywhere. Last night, I had him on his tummy on the carpet. I sat on the floor in front of him and I put his little duck rattle on the floor, just out of his reach.
He was gazing at the duck rattle intently, determined that he would get it.
He squirmed. He wiggled. He flailed. And yet he got nowhere.
He looked up at me as if to say, "Mommy, can't you bring it closer?"
I didn't. I told him, "You can do it, son. Keep trying."
He kept trying, but still didn't make it. He gave it a darn good try, though. I would have lost patience way before he did.
I watched him struggle to get that duck rattle, and it hit me that we are often like a baby who is desperately trying to get somewhere but just can't quite make it without the help of Mommy or Daddy. God watches us as we learn to move our arms and legs to get where we need to go. He lets us suffer a bit, and he may even let us whimper and whine in consternation.
But after awhile, one of two things will happen:
1. We'll figure out how to get to the rattle, though it may take more time than we'd like and more struggling than we're comfortable with.
2. God will lift us up from the ground, hold us in his lap, and hand us the rattle, and He will take great joy in seeing the happiness in our faces as we look up into His eyes with gratitude.
Lancelot was trying to crawl, as seen in the above photo. He's figured out that he needs to move his arms and his legs, but he hasn't figured out how to coordinate those movements in order to propel himself forward. Sometimes he pivots around on his tummy to where he's facing a different direction, but he doesn't actually go anywhere. Last night, I had him on his tummy on the carpet. I sat on the floor in front of him and I put his little duck rattle on the floor, just out of his reach.
He was gazing at the duck rattle intently, determined that he would get it.
He squirmed. He wiggled. He flailed. And yet he got nowhere.
He looked up at me as if to say, "Mommy, can't you bring it closer?"
I didn't. I told him, "You can do it, son. Keep trying."
He kept trying, but still didn't make it. He gave it a darn good try, though. I would have lost patience way before he did.
I watched him struggle to get that duck rattle, and it hit me that we are often like a baby who is desperately trying to get somewhere but just can't quite make it without the help of Mommy or Daddy. God watches us as we learn to move our arms and legs to get where we need to go. He lets us suffer a bit, and he may even let us whimper and whine in consternation.
But after awhile, one of two things will happen:
1. We'll figure out how to get to the rattle, though it may take more time than we'd like and more struggling than we're comfortable with.
2. God will lift us up from the ground, hold us in his lap, and hand us the rattle, and He will take great joy in seeing the happiness in our faces as we look up into His eyes with gratitude.
