For the Lord sees not as a man sees: for man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart. {1 Samuel 16:7}
Now he was ruddy and had beautiful eyes and was handsome. {1 Samuel 16:12}
And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them. {Mark 10:16}
***
It was late, pushing midnight, and I was ready to call it a night.
My introverted nature was vying for a quiet room and a bed to crawl into since I had been with people since noon. Introverted me needed to recover from all that social interaction.
But there was something more that needed my attention. Demanded it.
I spoke her name as I walked into her room. Light poured in through the doorway revealing the hill of her frame beneath the covers on her bed.
Every inch of her was hiding.
She lay perfectly still, as if asleep.
Only I knew she wasn’t.
I spoke her name again and added, “I know you aren’t sleeping.”
A slight stir.
“Sit up.”
I waited.
Eventually, she scooted up and in the slanted light I saw her red-rimmed and puffy eyes peering through a tangle of hair.
And thus began the midnight talk about honesty, her confession of sneaking and lying. And broken trust lay in pieces.
A silent prayer slipped heavenward: Help me help her.
So much shame hung on her small frame. Only a decade old and just in this one week (one night!) she racked up a slew of lies. She believed they were stacked neatly, unnoticed, like a pile of books against the wall; but her deception was discovered and now, we had to dig through the wreckage. Sort through the sin.
Her story was Eve’s.
There was a rule: no itouch for a week.
There was a temptation: Maybe I could us it when mom isn’t home? Just once or twice.
There was the fall: I did it and no one saw.
But the act required the lie and the lie required another and another.
And the lies had become her friend. The friend that offered her protection from revealing, embarrassing shame while at the same time isolated her from the freedom she craved. The friend that twisted me, her mom, into an enemy.
Her perception had been twisted by her deception and now, she stared at me not guilty and repentant but afraid, angry, immovable.
Only grace, Jesus’ grace, can move that mountain called shame.
I said His words and spoke hard truths in love. All the while I prayed for a softening, a yielding of spirit, not for me to mold and push and reform her, but to offer up to Jesus in my mother-hands: here, Savior, make her like you.
Because my hands are too rough, my skill in parenting too rudimentary. Her spirit needs the expert touch of a master. This dark conversation in a dark room became a prayer in which I turned my rights as mother, as a parent, over to the One who knows this girl better than I.
***
Jesus welcomed the children. We all remember that story well.
The disciples, men caught up in the ideas and ideals of their man-centered world, wanted to shoo them off into ambiguity, to keep the children unimportant and disposable. But Jesus wouldn’t have it.
We don’t know the names of the children who’s heads rested under the blessing-hand of the Savior. I think this is by design, because we know in hearts that read the message and not just the words of the story that those children are our children.
Those children clamoring to receive the blessing–they are us. You and me.
***
Yesterday in church, we revisited the story of David, Israel’s great king.
It began with a child, a shepherd boy whose life existed far from the shadowy world of King Saul. This boy was young, the Bible refers to him as “ruddy” which means red-cheeked – he was too young to shave. David, not yet on the outside edge of manhood, spent his childhood days watching over helpless sheep. But here, where the enemies were real, ruthless and hungry, David’s character would be tested.
When the lion came, could he not sacrifice one sheep to its ravenous attack and report back to his father that he didn’t see the danger coming?
When the bear came, David could spare a couple lambs to protect himself, couldn’t he?
In the wilds of the field, there was little room for deception, for lazy, self-protective thinking. This proving ground required integrity and courage.
This was the child God called up to serve and lead.
This was a child’s heart.
***
My girl has a call on her life. There are people only she can love and lead into places of grace.
Will she be ready, will she be willing? Only God knows.
Meanwhile, we are still clearing the debris that deception left behind. Her mind is healing from the wrong impressions that sin left upon her. But she is wet cement. She is still pliable clay. She is yet small enough to crawl upon the knee of Jesus and receive full blessing, abundant grace.
And so am I.
***
Friend, won’t you join me there, at the feet of a forgiveness-giving Savior? Won’t you trust that he has a call on your life, too? He can repair our hearts.
{linked up with Laura at Playdates at the Wellspring and Michelle DeRusha
Alyssa Santos
