{From now until Easter, I thought I'd share a little about my world view and why I believe what I do. Since most of what I write here is more of the day-to-day variety, I thought it was worth an explanation that I'm not permanently changing the tone of my blog to be religious heavy. I'm just writing, mostly as an exercise to reflect.}
Last Wednesday, Addie and I were at Target doing a little shopping. When she decided she didn't want to stay in or around the cart, I knew it was time to head home, so we got in line to check out.
After a moment of standing there, Addie started to walk quickly away from me down the aisle. I had my eye on her, so I wasn't concerned. I figured she had seen a pack of gum she wanted to convince me to buy. But then I saw her run up to someone's cart, and realized she had thought I had followed her and she was going to join up with me.
I called after her, "Addie!" knowing that she needed to hear my voice to figure out where I was.
She looked up at the woman steering the cart, and panic flashed across her face. She quickly turned and started sprinting toward me, head down. She had her eyes on the floor, and so when she saw a pair of legs wearing jeans with boots, she grabbed hold of them.
It wasn't me.
I had figured out before she grabbed the stranger what was going to happen, so I took four quick steps to pick her up, but I was a second too late. Addie looked up at the woman and realized that she had once again not found me.
She screamed. I scooped her up. She sobbed into my shoulder, loud body shaking sobs of both embarrassment and fright.
We stepped out of the check-out line, and I held her. I whispered over and over again into her ear, "I have you. You're okay."
At the time, I was more interested in calming her down and helping her feel safe, and I mostly felt extreme sympathy for her and her scary experience. Later on, though, when I was retelling the story I felt a surge of panic in my own chest. Not because I suddenly imagined losing Addie, but because in the retelling I started to feel what Addie must have felt--walking along, feeling safe, and then looking up and realizing you are not safe at all. You don't even know where safety is. So you start running, thinking you're on the right path only to discover that you are perhaps even more lost than you initially felt.
Every time I think of that moment in Target I feel this wave of emotion wash over me. I know part of it is because I'm Addie's mom, and thinking of what she was feeling right then makes my heart sad. But the other part is that I've felt that same sense of panic of looking up and not knowing where safety is.
Literally or metaphorically, sometimes I've wandered around, getting more lost by the second.
Sometimes I know I'm lost.
Sometimes I don't.
The truth is, in life, I'm not always brave enough to look up because it might mean I discover I'm not where I'm supposed to be. It's not like I want to be on the wrong path, but my own stubbornness makes me believe that by sheer determination I can find my destination. No one needs to rescue me. You can keep your grace to yourself, thankyouverymuch.
Addie knew she needed to be rescued. She looked up, heard me, tried to find her own way, but ultimately I had to step in and pick her up. This child, who is so stubborn she refuses to eat half of what I make her. This child, who is so stubborn she will refuse to walk if she has tights on. This child, who is filled to the brim with joy and laughter, but also has a strong dose of determination and stubbornness--even she knew better than to keep wandering around lost.
And so when Lent starts on Wednesday, I'll be doing my usual giving up chocolate thing, yes, but more than that, I'm making a conscious decision to stop what I'm doing, to look up and to accept whatever grace God has for me. Time to stop wandering.
