Like a Child

The van door rolled open, and I got out and placed her socks and shoes on her feet again.  She was eager to get out of her car seat, which she has already unbuckled to my dismay yet again, and stretch her legs even though we’d only just dropped brother off at preschool in the carpool line.  I picked her up and set her down on the ground, and she walked her little legs to the door, her hand in mine, her tiny backpack on her back and cup in the other hand.

When I opened the door, we entered the lobby of the doctor’s office.  I filled out the “patient is here” form as best as I could while still holding onto her.  I waited for the receptionist to give me the form required for the visit.

And then we sat down in the waiting area.  Since this was a family practice, there is a little children’s table in the middle of the waiting area.  The kind that is old-fashioned – still wooden and not plastic or colored.  It is funny – I’ve never seen other children there, and even she is not a patient here.  I am the one visiting the doctor today.  She is drawn to the table “just her size” though, so I sit in the leather chair across from it and next to a lamp sitting on an end table.  I sit my form and purse next to the lamp.  This morning, she slept late so I’ve brought her a cup of Cheerios.  It takes a little person like her much more time to eat and think about eating than it takes big people like me no matter how much I could attempt to hurry her.  It is simply an impossibility.  It will take as long as it takes.

I watch as she takes her backpack off and begins to dig into it to get her juice cup and cereal cup out of it.  I help her get them out, and she begins to climb onto the chairs.  She is beside herself with excitement at the freedom to walk around the lobby and eat at the kid sized table.

There are two women and one man already waiting in the lobby.  They barely glance up as we sit down, yet I know that we cannot be missed now that we are here.  She has brought life into the lobby.

Lisabeth, my 23 month old, climbs up and down the chairs, pulling one away from the table, sitting down, and then moving to the next one to try it out.  A little Goldilocks in the making.  She snacks as she moves and takes both cups to each new spot.  Then she decides to bring the cups to the end table next to my chair and sit with me.  The process is continual and constant, and her movement is anything but still.  As soon as she climbs into my lap, she climbs down again and tries to climb onto the chair next to me.  She sees the man sitting beside it and tries with all her might to say, “Heeeeeeeeey!  Helllwoooo!” but he ignores her presence.  It must take him the same effort to ignore her as it takes her to say hello, but his effort is hidden deep within.  He simply does not look her way or acknowledge her.

I feel sad as I think about this.  I look around the lobby.  Another man has come in and positioned himself diagonally across from me, so he is also by the kiddie table.  Yet he does not smile, nor is he happy to be at the doctor’s office, and he tries to divert his gaze from me and Lisabeth.  I wonder how many of the patients are annoyed with us and with her vivaciousness and liveliness.  Most everyone seems half dead, and maybe that’s why they’ve come to visit the doctor.

“Heeey!  Helllwwo!  Back-paaack.  Cup.  Hep me.  Tank you.  Mommmmmmyy!”  These are the precious words that comes out of her mouth in her loud voice.  I quietly give responses.  She dances, she twirls, she continues to move, chair to chair and table and back to me.

I am pleased with her laughter, her dance, her happiness, her joy.  It brings me pure pleasure.  I secretly wonder at who could live and not want to partake of her joy.  She is fully alive and enjoying this moment.  Instead most of us live as if we are half way dead, burdened by life, heavy with problems, like those in the lobby this day, ignoring the joy that could be found in simply acknowledging her presence.  Her life is a picture of grace of pure freedom to live fully in the moment.  And I want to be more like her – like a child.

I notice a “little old woman” come in, and hope with all my heart that her eyes will sparkle like that of a grandmother who finds joy in a little child when they find her.  They do, and my heart warms.

The door opens, and I hear my name called.  I gather the backpack, cups, and form, and my sweet life-filled daughter and walk back, happy for the blessing of her I’ve been given today even if the others left waiting are not.  I both feel sad for them and have hope for them still.

“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”  Matthew 18:3

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”  John 10:10

Sweet Jesus, let us all live each moment as carefree as a child, fully placing all of our burdens in you, allowing us to dance freely in life with pure joy.

Linking up with Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary for Just Write and Write it Girl.