Closing the oven door with our cheesy jalapeno and bacon stuffed chicken ready for cooking, I pace quickly down the hall. Unexpectedly, I see him lying in the bed of our bedroom. Tri-colored ivory, tourquoise, and purple afghan is pulled up tightly to his neck, while the crunching of space shaped fishy crackers in his tiny blue cup are tucked between his fingers. In a high end tone of delight, smiling through his words he greets me, "Mommeeee!" jubilantly exclaiming.
"Mommy, read me a story about Jesus, please!" he asks.
"Sure sweetie. Let's see; we could read about "the sower," or "the faith of a mustard seed," or ...
"The boy who spends his money Mommy, can we read about that one?" he asked.
Turning the pages to "The Prodigal Son," I settle my head into the pillow as we become cheek to cheek in the warmth of our bond.
"I love to snuggle you Seth! You are the best snuggler, you know that!" leaning in towards his eyes, smiling smiles of love.
"You are the best snuggler too, Mommy!" he replies as he presses in closer.
And so I began to read, our story.
"He was dead and now is alive, he was lost and now is found," I read as the story ended.
"Do you know what that means, Seth?" I asked in pondering thought.
"No." he replied with expectation for me to share.
"Remember when Jesus told Peter, "one day you will be fisher's of men?" I asked him.
"Ya," he answered open endedly.
"Well, it's kind of like that. This boy was once close to his father, but then left. He came back and was found again. It's an analogy for how when we do not have God in our hearts, we are dead, and when we have God in our hearts, we are alive." Just as Jesus told Peter, he would one day catch "men" who would come to Jesus, so the lost son comes to Jesus.
So many times reading together, Seth and I often spend time talking about what we learned. Discussing analogy's we think about, that come to our mind throughout the reading. Today however, was not one of those moments.
As he invited me to tickle him, I embraced the moment with playful abandon. Tossing the blankets aside, removing the blue empty cup that once held the fishy crackers, plopping to and fro onto pillows, the music of our giggles filled the room. As those giggles upon giggles continued, I was pondering our short time of reading.
Later that evening, the stillness of my day finally settled in. In a short reprise of the moments with Seth, the Holy Spirit captured my minds eye in a short movie clip. From the first words Seth spoke calling out to me from the other side of the house---"Mommy, read me a story about Jesus, please." Down the hall of my mind, replayed the moment I saw Seth, laying in our bed.
"Pause," I heard the Holy Spirit say, as the movie clip came to a stop.
I stood at that point in my minds eye---waiting for what it was He had for me.
"Do you see it?" He asked me.
Seth was prompted.
He made himself ready within the comfort of his Mommy and Daddy's bed, to listen. He waited, patiently to hear the word read to him. In stillness for Me to come, he remained ready. He was expectant. Full of delight and joy, in that expectancy. He was listening, to his spirit. He was responsive. He was in tune and in touch with what his heart was already longing to hear, more about.
waiting-
for a tranquil moment where the promptings might be heard. Felt. Having a readiness, to see it. Primed in spirit enough for the sacred to unfold, for my own heart. Hearing. Listening. Responding. In the twilight hours of my soul, when and where my heart, hears best.
Dear Holy Spirit,
Tucked beneath the covers of our day, you snuggled me into a moment, midst your Kingdom. Thank you! For my son, who listened to the promptings of Your leading. Who responded not only to the hunger of his tummy with space ship fishy crackers, but with the hunger of his heart. The longing for a meal with You. Thank You for choosing me, today.
Thank You for that bed, of rest.
Thank you also for, untucking the covers for me. For pulling them back long enough to expose the chill in the air so that I could see that which was being uncovered, for me.
Help me Father, to be ready. Responsive. To be able to recognize Your, promptings. Rather than ready, to the promptings of worry.
Help me not be afraid of what that meal might be. That you are not a Father of shame, but of grace and love.
Like Seth, that my longings for truth, wisdom and knowledge might be, filled. May it sink deeply into the cold, cracked, crevices of my soul. And like the warmth of our afghan, may it cover me in a cozy sense of your presence, unlike any other.
For those moments when I don't;
pause-
Lord Jesus, I confess I have not been nearly as faithful to the stillness, you beckon me to. I now invite You to usher in, all of what you long so lovingly to give me. Where, when after the meal has been recieved, I could say, "Tickle me, Papa, Tickle me." That I would feel so very comfortable with the freedom of your Fathering, that I would delight in the joy of asking for, more. Teach me how to laugh, in Your presence. Not with something that meets my ears with fancy talk, or things that are of no substance, but with the weight and joy of your glory. The weight and joy of your majesty. Where every breath I make, I make in You. So that, when those promptings awaken within, my first response will be, "Daddy! would you tell me a story about, Jesus!"
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