I knelt by the tree and was able to see it again: the magical world amongst the branches, illumined by tiny lightbulbs on green wires and inhabited by festive animals and shining orbs. It’s a vantage point which takes no account of the larger picture, of the tree from top to toe, of balance in the placement of baubles, of the condition of bows or the number of needles on the carpet. I have to kneel down to see it now, but my boy sees nothing else.
I forget to kneel down sometimes, and am baffled by the devastation that moving the ornament box out of the living room — no more decorations! — can bring. But my boy notices the minutiae: the tiny piece of candy dropped on the car floor days ago which he lovingly rescued today, the capital letter R in a footnote on my Bible page, the glitter of green in the carpet where a flake of shattered ornament remains. He doesn’t see the bigger schedule of Things to Do; he cares for This Moment, when Duplo duck Bob is looking for Duplo duck Bobra.
Our Lord knelt down, so much further than I have to. He didn’t just get a perspective similar to ours. He completely inhabited our perspective, limiting omniscience to the blurred vision of a newborn baby, content that the God who fills all heaven and earth should inhabit a manger.
Surely He has known our griefs and carried our sorrows.
He sees the larger picture, so much larger than the tree from top to toe, or the list of Things to Do; and He knows, when I am caught in frustration at things not going my small way, that His better way is going forward. Yet He deals gently with me, helping me in all my tiny moments while He can see eternity, adorning my small view with lovely things — hints that one day, when I can see the larger picture, it will be glorious indeed.
Today I rejoin the Five Minute Friday community using today’s prompt, balance.
©️2018 Stacy Crouch