He’d wriggled and squirmed in anticipation of the event. Several weeks before, he’d received the news with gladness, happy that Grandma wanted him to come over during Christmas break.
“Who will take me?” he’d wondered aloud, sitting beside me in a darkened auditorium. “Shall I walk?”
I’d laughed. “Oh, no. Daddy or I can take you. We’ll make sure you get to Grandma’s house.” He’d relaxed, then, larking his way through the remaining school days ’til vacation.
The day before he was scheduled to go, he’d asked me over and over, “Should we start getting ready?” No, I assured him, we’d have “plenty of time tomorrow.” And then tomorrow came, and he set his heart to the packing.
His father, when he heard about the sleepover, had grimaced. To say he was attached to his smallest son was wholly inadequate, having fully embraced the unexpected gift that’d come to us later in life, forever changing our family unit.
Then there he went, suitcase packed with a monkey pillow pet, toothbrush, pajamas, and his best-best, well-loved blanket.
It was his face the next day that spoke. There he came, Mother eager, waiting to see her boy, anxious to hear his stories. Up the steps, one, two, three, and ’round the corner. “I’m so happy to see you!” I said, smile cracking wide, arms open to gather him in.
And there it was. The innocence of childhood, joy at the welcome, a glad and happy heart that knows it belongs—is seen; is wanted; is loved. All of these shone upon his countenance.
Then the whisper. ”That’s how I feel about you.” Looking at my boy, I heard Him speak. “When you come to Me, that’s how I feel.”
Today, may I include you in that whisper? “That’s how He feels about you.” Whenever you come, weary, discouraged, stepping toward Him, He beams. Every time you turn in your busyness and distraction, raising your gaze, He feels just like that.
Can you see it, that smile on His face? The joy at your coming? The glad welcome He offers?
Can you feel it, such happiness and joy, knowing you belong? That you’re seen? That you’re wanted? That you, dear one, are loved? Just as I waited for Little, so He waits for you, for me, eager to see us, to hear our stories, to listen, to be.
With love this day,
P.S. Little Schrock, the happy overnighter, reported a wonderful time at Grandma’s house. He loved playing with her cats, watched cartoons, and ate like a trencherman when she took him to Pizza Hut (his choice), wolfing down two large slices, per her report. He did, however, say that, “There was a problem. The cat was wiggling (under the bed) and ‘m’owing,’ and I couldn’t get to sleep.” He is quite eager to do it again, though it’s not certain if Snuggles and Linus feel the same.
About the Author
Rhonda Schrock is the smallish mother of 4 sons, ages 6 to 22. She married her blue-eyed soulmate 25 years ago this summer and calls him “all kinds of brave” for sticking it out through years of diapering, disciplining and daily debriefings with an (occasionally) hysterical female. Read more about Rhonda and her writings on her website.
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This lesson blesses me through and through, thanks Rhonda! It’s a wonderful thing to meditate on today.
Thank you so much for stopping in, Karen. Jesus was so very right when He said, “A little child shall lead them,” wasn’t He? So many times, mine have done just that.
Happy Thursday.
These are warm, comforting words. Thank you, Rhonda!!
You’re welcome, and I’m glad. I tell readers my blog is nearly always self-talk first. Then I let others listen in.
Thanks for sharing this, Rhonda! It’s a wonderful reminder.
And thank you for having me, Caitlin. It’s my pleasure to visit today.
Rhonda:
A very special post. I loved the story of Little and you greeting each other. I especially love the tie in with our relationship with God. As always a wonderful story from you .
Cecelia – You really should meet him sometime. He’s a delight for sure. Loves the Lord with all of his heart and loves his family.
Oh. And he loves coloring.
I believe the love I have for my children helps me understand God’s love more than anything else.
So true, Tricia. He’s taught me much about His heart through my boys.
Not gonna lie– reading this at work in my office, and letting the tears fall. <3 This makes me think of the song that says.."Could we with ink the ocean fill, and were the skies of parchment made…if every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade… to write the love of God above would drain the ocean dry… nor could the scroll contain the whole, though stretched from sky to sky… Oh, Love of God, how rich and pure… how measureless and strong… it shall forevermore endure the saints and angels song…" Thank you, Jesus, for loving a sinner like me!!
I haven’t sung that song in a long, long time. But I sure do remember singing it on the old wooden pews in my childhood congregation. Puts me right back there, Tangi.