I lay on the futon in our lower level waiting for sounds from upstairs. I was savoring those last few moments before the day really began.
It was about
There were the usual sounds – the refrig turning off and on, the water pipes making their soft clanging, a little creak here and a soft groan there as the house shifted and settled. But I was waiting for a special sound. I was waiting for seven zero zero when Ethan was allowed to come out of his room and the day would really begin.
Ethan and his parents (our daughter Becki and our son-in-law John) had arrived the day before for a half week vacation with Grandma and Grandpa.
As he has done the last several visits, Ethan went right into “his room” to check to see that everything was in order. To see that Grandma’s birds (and therefore his as well) were still on the shelves and the dishes of interesting acorns, seed pods and pine cones were still nestled among the (artificial) pine boughs. Satisfied that everything was where he had last left it, he bounded into the living room.
He had greeted both Bill and me with an enthusiastic “We’re here” as soon as they arrived; now he wanted to know what “we are going to play with this time, Grandma?”
I had brought up a bag of blocks, his bag of “real working” tools and a few other things. He glanced at those things, and then looked around the room again.
“Your bowl of fruit is still on the shelf over there.” I told my three year old grandson. He bounded over to the baker’s rack and carefully pulled the basket of artificial apples, pears, banana, and grapes, with a couple of real dried oranges thrown in, off the shelf. He carried it to the open area in front of the couch and dumped it onto the carpet. Then he ran to the basket of birdhouse gourds and added them to the pile.
“Grandma, let’s go downstairs and see what else you have for me to play with.”
As we reached the top of the steps, Ethan looked back into the living room of adults watching this scene play out and announced, “Just Grandma and me. I want to go downstairs with only Grandma.”
As I lay there waiting for Ethan sounds I was remembering with delight the joys of yesterday. The utter joy he expressed when we opened Grandma’s “Fall” box and he was allowed to carry upstairs the basket of yet more dried gourds, and the sprays of artificial berries and acorns. I remembered the enchantment of his imagination as he “cut up” his fruits and veggies with the plastic knife I gave him and made all sorts of exotic dishes which he served to any adult who would participate.
When we went outside to enjoy the cool of the patio, Ethan exclaimed with joy that the fish were still in the pond, looked at all the flowers growing and pulled all the weeds that Grandma pointed out to him.
At bedtime he wanted Grandma to help him with his bath, Grandma to read him the first story. Grandpa was allowed to dry him off and allowed to read him the second book.
As I lay on the futon I laughed out loud and then wiped a tear as I remembered the several times when Ethan would suddenly stop in the midst of play, look up at me and say, “I love you Grandma. I love you very much.”
And then it struck me. This is exactly what God wants from us. This is (at least in part) what it means to become like a little child.
God longs for us to be excited about being with Him again. He wants us to exclaim with wonder at the creation He has put all around us. He wants us to want to be with “just Him”, telling Him every little thing that is on our minds. He delights when we look up and just say, “I love you, I love you very much.”
No fancy buildings that we have to be in, no intricate service that we have to participate in, no ritual that must be followed. Just unbridled, uncomplicated joy at being in His presence. Simplicity, uncluttered, childlike.
No doubt Ethan’s relationship with us will become more complicated as his own life becomes more complicated. That’s just what happens. But…
The most wonderful, the most beloved person I can ever think of was my own grandmother. She always had time for me, even when she was very busy, I was allowed to “help” her sew and “help” her make a pie, or weed, or dust. I just wanted to be with her, to be in her presence and she honored that.
I don’t know if I learned great truths from my Grandmother, but I certainly learned about unconditional love and acceptance and the joy of just simply being with that person you felt safest with.
All of my life I have hoped, longed for, prayed that I could someday be a grandma like my grandma. To my great joy and deep delight God seems to be allowing this wish to become true.
As Ethan’s life becomes more complex, and it will even this next year, I hope that these times of just being with Grandma become embedded in his memory to be pulled out when he needs them.
I hope he will continue to burst into joy when he gets to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I hope he will always, even when life gets tumultuous and unsettled, think of our home as a place of refuge and acceptance.
And I hope, beginning even now, Ethan will see God, at least a part of God, as the loving father he sees in Grandpa and the nurturing mother he sees in Grandma.
And finally, because of Ethan, my own relationship with God has taken a step backward! Yes, backward, back to that place where I just delight in being in His presence. That place where I can exclaim with delight at the creation He has surrounded me with (for at least a time not worrying about Global Warming etc.), to be able to ask Him why 100 times and then some and be content with His answers, and to spontaneously just look up and say, “I love you, I really love you.”
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