Some take the change harder, standing by the door that opens to the hallway.There are no violent screams or tantrums with these…just silent tears. I scoop up one wee girl who’s missing her mama. We sit cross-legged on the floor and I rub her back and she leans against me, a sniffle here and there betraying her quiet tears.
And then there are those who push back more vocally. A mother heads to the service, and the little guy by the door bursts into tears. His comfort is gone and he refuses to be consoled.
(Isaiah 43:1-4). This wasn’t what I wanted, and in the moment, that’s all that seems to matter.
That Sunday morning, I reached down to scoop up the one who sobs for his mama, for security and comfort. We rock back and forth, again with the back-rubbing and soft words. Gradually the sobs turn to whimpers and hiccups.
In a moment of surrender and exhaustion, he lays his little head on my shoulder and sighs.
No more fighting.
His downy hair is beneath my chin, and I rock with him, back and forth, back and forth.
I wish I could learn this surrender—learn it before I get angry, before I’m worn out from fighting and pushing against Him, before I’m worn out from asking “why?” Learn to trust that life happens in His time, not mine—that He alone is my comfort and security.
Learn to lean into Him and rest just where I am, safe in His arms.
But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I give Egypt as your ransom, Cush and Seba in exchange for you. Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you, I give men in return for you, peoples in exchange for your life.