Novel addict: July 2012

I don't think I could hide the fact that I like-not-love kids. Probably has a lot to do with my 2 years spent at a daycare where I overdosed on snot and snack time. It was a experience that paid me, but also one that made me a bit bitter. I was an anxty teen, so locking myself in a room with over 100 small children made my cynicism more prevalent (and I had purple streaks in my hair). A sad fact that I don't enjoy admitting (especially the purple hair part), and as I grow older and approach my 20's, I can feel my heart shedding off those extra layers of bitterness that I'd wrapped myself in years ago.

Once I finished my sentence, I mean every cherished moment, at the daycare and the kids I babysat grew up and no longer needed me to play hide and seek, I never sought out any opportunities to be around kids. This is fine, nowhere does it say playing with small children has to be some creepy hobby, but as it turns out, Peter Pan was right when he so wisely stated, "When people grow up they forget the way." What way? The way to imagine you're holding tools that aren't there to construct inventions that haven't left an 8 year old's mind. The way jumping on the bed somehow makes everything better. The way to both love and hate being tickled by your mom. The way running through a sprinkler becomes the highlight of summer. The way your stuffed animals have distinct personality traits. The way to spin in circles.
I'd forgotten the way.

Though it wasn't Peter Pan who reminded me to reacquaint myself with the heart of a child. No. It wasn't Peter Pan's way, but THE Way. The Ancient of Days. The Great I AM. The Holiest of Holies began to speak in hushed whispers that I so easily ignore if I'm grumpy or not in the mood to listen. Did I mention I can be stubborn? Ah, but see, God works through that, not around it. Straight through it. He reminded me of Matthew 18. The disciples ask Jesus who is the greatest in the kingdom of Heaven. Not the most adorable, not the ones we tolerate until they can discuss Hemingway. No. The greatest. You know what Jesus does? He brings over a child and tells them that unless they become like a child, they will never enter the kingdom of Heaven. I imagine the disciples faces at their Beloved Jesus' answer as nothing less than dropped jaws and confused stares with questions marks plastered in their eyes. Honestly. They may have expected Jesus' answer of the one who study scriptures the longest, or the one who speaks to the most people about Him to be fought out amongst themselves. Instead, Jesus silences them all by proclaiming the greatest is a child.

Okay cool. But where does that leave me?

It leaves me after a five week stint in Europe with my sister on the couch with my 8 year old cousin I babysit a few times a week all day as The Lord ignites tiny sparks in my heart towards my weeks of imaginary games, singing made-up songs, and squirt gun fights. These sparks I find myself praising God for are also complimented by cheesy dorito fingers, grumpy temper tantrums, and pleading for no more Phineas and Ferb (from my end). These are the moments I pray I can praise God for as well because they give life authenticity and a reminder that kids are going to be kids no matter how endearing they look when they sleep. These are moments I hear impatience escape my lips, but God is so much greater than my faults. He is teaching me to love playing for the sake of playing, and that animal crackers at the park taste much better than eating them in a bowl in front of the the TV.