I just got back from a birthday party at a popular pizza place; the one with the giant mouse and games that all cost one token each. I don't know how to feel about places like that. On the one hand, it's completely enclosed- you can let your littles run like the sugar-crazed maniacs that they are and not worry too much since they are in full view the whole time. On the other hand, I saw more than one child with their fingers in their nostrils clear up to their elbows. I saw another child licking the air hockey table, and you just can't help but wonder what lurks on the tokens that go in and out of those machines. I lied to my daughter. Bold faced. I looked straight into those big brown eyes and told her that there were no germs there. She didn't buy it.
It was relatively empty since the party took place during lunch on a school day, but the littles that were there were awfully little. That preschool age is completely precious. They still think that their mamas are the answer to every problem and that their daddy can beat up anyone else's daddy. As precious as they are at that age, however, today reminded me how thankful I am that my kiddos are a little older. I was exhausted watching those mamas run around behind all those toddling ponytails bouncing up and down to an awkward Frankenstein gait.
Our group sat down to eat our pizza and bread sticks as a video came on the screen- a video of a non-virtuoso, non-prodigy, musically talentless child blowing with gusto into the vilest of all musical instruments known to man: The Recorder. Every hair on my neck stood on end as the video that was intended to produce humor with adults made me want to throw a tire iron at the video screen. I forgot about the birthday boy. I forgot about my kid. I forgot about the chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing, chocolate drizzle, and chocolate shavings in front of me... yeah, it was THAT bad. When all of a sudden, from out of nowhere, my attention was jerked back to reality by the only thing that could make me forget about the assault on my ears: The scream of a little one calling out for their Mama. Not just any shout, but the one that says, "I really need you, lady, drop your bread stick and follow my voice!". Every mom within earshot popped their head up and looked to see if the voice was in as much trouble as it claimed to be. Little voices can sometimes be overly dramatic. But only ONE mama dropped her Diet Coke and rushed toward the sound of that voice that belonged to the bouncing ponytails. She didn't even have to ask, "Susan, is that you screaming?" She knew that voice. She knew that call. With her entire heart, mind, and physical being she was in sync with the life that trusted her and needed her help. It turns out, little miss ponytails bumped her head on the bottom of the previously licked air hockey table. It appeared that another mom tried to console her, but only her own would do. When mama arrived all was well, but it was touch and go for, like, 6 seconds.
John 10:14-18 “I am the Good Shepherd. I know my own sheep and my own sheep know me. In the same way, the Father knows me and I know the Father. I put the sheep before myself, sacrificing myself if necessary. You need to know that I have other sheep in addition to those in this pen. I need to gather and bring them, too. They’ll also recognize my voice. Then it will be one flock, one Shepherd. This is why the Father loves me: because I freely lay down my life. And so I am free to take it up again.
You know, there comes a point when you really can't just call out to Mom when things start getting a little Wonky in life. This is the time it's more important than ever to know— that you know— what you know. What do you need to know? You need to know the voice of the One. We need to know the voice of the One who will drop everything and flatten a mountain when we call. We need to know the voice of the One who will split seas, stop time, defeat death, scatter stars, and crush armies to get to us when we call. I believe that our Father sits on the edge of His throne with His eyes glued to His beloved... waiting; anxiously waiting for our cry. And whether that cry rings out from the top of your lungs or is a choked out whisper between flowing tears- it rings heavily in the heart of God as He moves heaven and earth to get to where you are. Can you hear Him when you call? If not then you may not be turning to Him first; you get distracted by the other noise in the room and lose track of the voice calling you in the right direction.
Those exhausting little people we raise don't waste any time calling when they need stuff.
"MOM! I have a boo-boo!"
"Mom, I'm out of toilet paper!"
"Mom, I forgot I need to write a 20-page essay with at least five visual aids on the dietary habits of Loggerhead turtles and it's due tomorrow."
"Mom, I'm hungry!"
"Mom, I'm heartbroken!"
"Mom, I'm sick."
We can take a lesson. If we believe He can move mountains then why rent a bulldozer first?
Amanda Williams is a forty-year old wife and mother of two who can still swing her pony tail and display just a tad of sass. She is also a Jesus loving girl who realizes she is nothing without the One who saved her. Amanda has two degrees specializing in serving students with special needs and is currently working in the field of Leadership Development. She is a Christian author, speaker, blogger, and publisher who loves serving beside her husband at her local place of worship, First Baptist Church of Ocala.