This.
This is what has my heart aflutter. But probably not for the reason you'd think.
This afternoon Riley had occupational therapy. He goes weekly and works to fine tune both his gross and fine motor skills. Prematurity will leave you walking, running, and jumping like a baby giraffe a little longer than you should and scissors will make you set up your tent in the, "I'd rather just tear the paper than figure out these silly things" Camp. So, we go.
After some time playing with a variety of yoga balls (to develop core strength and balance) Riley ran to the craft table. He sat down and waited for Willow, his patient and wonderful therapist. She joined him and got out his nemesis, the scissors (we have fun, but she makes him work). Initially, there was groaning and a little flailing as he struggled to grasp them in a way that would render them a useful tool, but he ultimately got it sorted.
First, there was the green paper to make the grass, then glue. Oh! How his eyes lit up and his focused narrowed as he set his mind to follow the directions to dip the paintbrush in the glue, paint it on the back, and then flip it over (which is kind of a hang up for a lot of kids, but Riley got it, no problem. MENSA, may want to hear about that. Just sayin'), and then apply pressure to ensure a good stick. It was time to make the flowers. With every frustrated snip, painting of glue, and strategic placement of each square, his eyes began to brighten as his masterpiece was slowly coming together. You could see (and hear...he is his mother's son) his excitement grow. The stems were next. He didn't want just green, but brown, purple, orange. He wanted markers, crayons, and chalk (who knew he was so versatile in such a variety of mediums?)
His favorite part? The bingo dabber. Blue. Red. Green. He had to use all three. Each were intentionally dabbed. The right hand corner? That's the sun. He was instructed step by step how to make a flower garden, but without prompting from me or Willow, he thought to include the sun (again, MENSA. Hello?).
He BEAMED when he was finished and brought it to me (I hang back a bit when they work at the table to let her develop his techniques). He wanted to go show it to Mon-ca-ca (Monica), the woman who he's befriended who does the billing for the office. He was SO proud of himself. As we left, he had to hold it in the car, and then tantrumed just a bit when it found its final home, showcased on the fridge.
So what's my point?
I get it, I'm a parent. I know I am RIDICULOUSLY biased to the talents, skills, abilities (ahem...adorableness) of my son. I am. I am partial. I am pretty much going to think whatever this kid does is straight up brilliant and if I let myself take it too far, I'll find myself wondering why MENSA hasn't contacted me about my prodigy child. Like I said, ridiculous.
As I found myself so proud of Riley and his 30 minutes of uninterrupted focus (for a two year old, where's this kid's gold medal?) and his final product, the Lord sweetly nudged my heart as He mirrored my delight in Riley to His delight in me.
Whoa.
Wait....why?
Because I'm His.
Riley is mine and I am His.
As much as I found such great joy and pleasure as he crafted his masterpiece and laughed with such enjoyment as he reveled with sheer glee as he presented it to me, it was but the fringes of God's delight in me--a mere taste. In that fleeting moment, my grasp of the vastness of God, who He is, and how He sees me, grew just a little bit deeper.
By objective critique, an artist would say what Riley produced wasn't art, at least not good art. Regardless of his age and lack of talent, skills, or ability, objectively, describing it as mediocre is even being rather generous. By comparison, an adult could produce something far more attractive, and a trained artist, even better than that. But it is the love that I have for my son, and the deep delight I take in his pleasure as he worked, and the innocent joy he exuded as he shared it with me that makes this "refrigerator worthy" and a mother delight in her son.
It's not the artwork itself, but the love for my son that makes it precious.
How much more does He delight in what He sees as precious?
This pretty much rocked my heart this afternoon. After 27 years of knowing and loving Christ, it is in moments such as this that I feel so far from where I desire my heart to be, or if I'm being completely honest, where I think my heart is. It took a toddler's flower garden to show me another small glimpse into the depth and reality of a love I will never fully understand. It's a love that is fully undeserved and yet, IS FULLY MINE.
If that's the case, why do I so frequently put my effort and energy into trying to do the things I think will earn an unearnable love that is already mine in all its fullness? After 27 years of knowing and loving Christ, it's days like this, I feel no greater than a toddler.
I hate to admit, the quiet whispers of that still and quiet Voice is so often drowned out by the noise of my life and my push to make it through days that are filled with exhaustion, busy-ness, and the many many hats I wear.
And then there are days when that Voice stops me in my footsteps and I am left in awe at the mere fringes of His immeasurable delight.
