Corporate worship concludes, corporate fellowship continues. We stand and talk, which is nothing unusual, until the smallest finger on my right hand is grasped with firm intention. Excuse me, I seem to be going…
She seems no higher than my knee, blond locks flowing, dressed in pink.
We walk from the hall and its coffee, tea, cake and talk, crossing the foyer and enter the chapel, now vacated by the last tardy worshippers, its lights turned off.
Stepping down the center aisle we break to our left, now in single file between the first two rows of seats; my finger still grasped, her hand aloft now leading me. We continue between another row of seats and now find ourselves able to walk alongside each other again. She chatters a happy commentary about the light in the room, the carpet, our path, the windows, the sun, and more. Some of it I catch, some of it not.
I think about the others in the room across the way, but my attention returns to our present peripatetic path around a very familiar space which has now been transformed by our new adventure.
Eventually I’m lead to the platform at the front of the room. Two steps up: one foot on the step, then the other, then the first foot takes another step followed again by the other. We walk across the platform to the other side.
I’ve done so hundreds of times. But now, it’s an adventure. We plan our descent. Nothing less than a full jump down both steps will do. After some measuring and preparation of the task she leaps and ends up sitting on the lower step. Gales of laughter indicate this has been a success.
Over the next ten or more minutes we continue to weave a familiar circuit. Minor variations emerge: we proceed between different rows of chairs, and sometimes we step off the platform, other times we jump. Still other times, having stepped down, we jump for good measure when we are on the floor. She can fall back some little distance onto what seems a cushioned back-side. I keep my feet, because I fear a harder landing.
Measures of curiosity and wonder keep me intrigued. When will she grow bored with our game and me?
I remember playing similar games with my own children. And again I’m reminded of the wonder of a God who never grows bored with the consistency of His creation.
Day after day the sun rises and sets. Familiar consistency mingled with fresh wonder.
Rain falls (sometimes less that we’d like, sometimes what we consider too much) the earth yields fruit, life goes on.
Why has God committed Himself to this continuing work of utter consistency that we call creation?
And why has he chosen to involve Himself in my life, and the lives of others beside?
He makes no indication of boredom, of wanting to divert from sustaining the order of creation, nor does He tire of being personally present in a life that at times even I feel like trying to escape?
What condescending love and grace.
But these are thoughts of fleeting seconds.
My real attention is focussed not these thoughts but on their miniature joyous mirror.
This is a time for enjoyment, not analysis.
At times now her grasp releases. She watches to ensure herself that I am committed to our path, and sometimes she issues direction if it seems I am not going the right way, but her will and joy have become my own in this short season.
I don’t know why she decided to grasp my finger. I’m thankful that she did.
I walk a path, not of my own will and design, but rather to share her joy.
At its purest that’s what it is to walk with God.
It’s why we receive the kingdom like little children.
Soon it is time to go. She with her family and me to mine.
But the sacred wonder abides.
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