Treasure Hunting

Today I spent most of my morning helping a little girl strip a superhero of his manhood.  I watched as she diapered, fed and burped a large, plastic, walking-talking Iron Man. 

Once fed, she clapped as he attempted to walk in a very unladylike fashion in a dolly dress; I must say that pink is not really his color, but the frilly apron is slimming and the purple butterflies do bring out the mechanical nobs on his head.   

He made a meek attempt at saving his reputation as he said, "I am Ironman! I will take you down."  I shook my head; it really just doesn't have the same effect when said while being loaded into a pretend car seat with a binky hanging from the corner of his mouth hole.

Mornings like these make me want give myself a new title: Treasure Hunter. These jewels of childhood are often buried under frustration and if I can just sort through all the noise and get to the little golden treasures buried in moments like today, I will keep them always.

Sometimes in the midst of all the tantrums and muck, I lose my focus and fail to recognize these jewels when they are right in front of me. When I see two toddlers sitting in the middle of a cheese cracker pile, I see them joyfully tossing $2.50 into the air rather than understanding that the value of this moment far exceeds the worth of the crackers.  I get caught up in the now and the want of a moment of peace from the constant chatter of my five year old, and fail to realize that he soon will not want to talk to me at all.

I remember a day when I prayed for a child, and I dreamed of holding my sweet bundle in my arms. God must sometimes answer our prayers with a little smirk, understanding that we actually have no idea what we are asking for.  

Parenting is not the fairy tale that I dreamed of.  My dream of singing my little princess to sleep turned out to be slinging a screaming two year old boy into his bed and racing out the door before he has a chance to escape.  This may not be perfect way to put my precious little son to bed at night, but its the only way I know how to get it done.  Through the many nights he spent screaming on one side of the door, he may never know how many of those I have spent kneeling on the other side of it praying for his safety and health.  He thinks he is in there all by himself but I am right there hearing every wail.

The truth is, only God Himself can be a perfect parent; many of us feel all alone when God is right on the other side of the door waiting for us to acknowledge He is there.  He hears our every wail and treasures every moment that we let Him into our lives.

He is not only a treasure hunter, but He is the Creator of every valuable thing.  He sees the worth in each moment we serve Him, no matter how tiny that moment may seem.  More so, God sees our heart and He sees our intentions.
 

Meg DuncanComment