New Favorite Things

I have the great joy of getting to spend a ton of time with my kids right now. I especially appreciate the time I get one-on-one with my 14mo, Noah. God teaches me so much through my father-son relationship with this awesome little human. This morning we all shared a lesson that was simple, yet profound.

Our home has a dinning room, but very little dinning is done there. Our table, which should be covered with tabley things, is instead covered with Bibles, notebooks, writing utensils, coloring devices, coffee mugs, sippy cups, and the occasional laptop. At any one point in time there are almost always two Woodsons reading, drawing, writing, or just scribbling furiously as we explore God's interactions with our inner minds. Not too far away from this place of imagination and understanding is a bookshelf that makes the table look organized.

The bookshelf is Noah's second favorite thing, right behind the dogs. Unlike the dogs, the bookshelf cannot run away, so it bears the brunt of Noah's inquisitions. This morning Noah found a pencil sharpener tucked away on his bookshelf and happily shared a month's worth of pencil shavings with me and the floor. I look up, Noah smiles. Now that it was empty I was less concerned about sharpener messes, and more concerned about him figuring out how to sharpen a finger, so I took it away. So began the battle.

As a rule, we try not to pull things out of Noah's hands, in the hopes that he will show the same respect to others. After politely signaling to him that I wanted the sharpener, he happily gave it to me, probably assuming I would refill the shavings for him to continue his merry making. He was confused then when instead of returning the sharpener to him, I placed it back amongst the chaff on the shelf and went back to my scribbling at the table. Not ten seconds later he stuck his little paw in and grabbed his now favorite thing. I told him, "no thank you," our way of saying no to a baby whose name starts with No, and he reluctantly put the sharpener back. 

Another minute passes.

His hand sneaks back into the shelf. He's avoiding eye contact.

"No thank you."

[Grunt of disagreement.]

"No thank you."

[Feigned disintrest.]

Another minute passes. I look up from the notebook. Noah's gone. The sharpener is too. He's in the living room silently explaining the delicate workings of his new favorite thing to the dogs. They listen intently, appreciative of a new favorite thing. He realizes I'm watching. The sharpener disappears behind a chubby leg. He knows I know.

"No thank you."

[Serious grunt.]

"No thank you." My hand reaches out.

[Super-serious grunt, angry face.]

My grabbing rule is superseded by my you-will-obey-me rule. I take the sharpener. Noah melts down, not like a popsicle would, all slow and sticky and useless. He melts down like Chernobyl. Nothing is safe. Puppy safety instincts kick in. I'm alone. And I'm holding the sharpener. Luckily I'm ten times his size. I barely win. The sharpener goes back on the shelf. Now the shelf is the enemy, and the enemy must be punished. Everything starts flying. 

"No thank you."

[Popsicle meltdown.]

I sit, looking at my boneless, muscleless, tendonless, glob of frustrated child between table and shelf, amongst pencil shavings and anything the shelf could sacrifice, and I realize, this is me. This is me when God confronts my sin. This is me when God takes away my new favorite thing, when He catches me hiding my sin in the other room, when He sees me showing off my new favorite thing to others as if they cared, when "no thank you" isn't enough. This is me when God shows love towards me. I Chernobyl. I popsicle. He keeps being God.

I read a book recently that talked about adults using childish behaviors to play games with the emotions of other adults. It was an eye opener, not to what I saw in others, but to what I saw in myself, and specifically in how I react to God. How often God gently guides my hand away from sin, and all I can do is grunt in dissatisfaction. How often God picks up my mess, fixes my mistakes, and I rebel right into the other room. How often God rebukes my sin, and I lash out in anyway I can to feel powerful. How often I realize the futility of my venture and give in.

Noah's at the piano now, playing with both hands. I take a picture, then a video, then a mental picture in case gremlins get the digital copies. I smile at him and he smiles at me; we love each other. He's forgotten about the sharpener episode; I remember. I know there will be another favorite thing to battle over soon; he has no idea.

I smile at him and he smiles at me; we love each other.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." - John 3:16