Playing With Children, Dancing With God

I played with the children this morning. We ran around the trampoline. We hit whiffle balls with golf clubs. We wrote on the driveway with chalk. When they got cranky we had a snack. My youngest son took a nap. My three and six year old played with water on the deck. Now they’re in the tree fort.

When given the space, children do things that we don’t naturally do. They march in circles. They sing. They pick dandelions in the yard. They throw those helicopters into the air, ya know the ones that fall from trees? They imagine that they’re in a boat, even if they’re just sitting in the grass.

They fight sometimes. But they generally know right from wrong. When I asked Addie why Jackson was upset with her, she said it was because she had three fish and he only had one. I asked her what would happen if she gave one fish to Jackson. She said that they both would have two. I asked if that was fair. She got a big smile on her face and ran out onto the deck and gave Jackson one fish. 

Jesus was constantly trying to tell everyone to be like children. Children seem to have a knack for showing us the face of God. But we’re often too busy, too sophisticated, or too important to see Him. Children don’t know the difference between transubstantiation and consubstantiation but they know what love is. They might be mad at you for at 7:00 when you tell them they can’t have candy for breakfast, but they forgive you by 7:15 when you get down on the floor and roll around with them like, well, a child.

I read a poem this morning that reminded me of being a child. It was written by a little boy who had a terrible disease and didn’t live very long. But he could “see” better than most of the adults I know. It’s called “Angel-Wings”:

This morning, I smelled something very good.

Perhaps, it was a rainbow.

Or maybe, it was a dinosaur smile.

Or even, a seashell.

I am not sure what I smelled.

And I am not sure what rainbows

Or dinosaur smiles

Or seashells

Smell like.

But I’m sure they smell wonderful.

Wonderful and special

Like the smell of Angel-Wings.

But also,

I’m sure they smell a little sad,

Because we can’t really smell a rainbow,

Or a dinosaur smile,

Or a seashell,

Or especially,

We can’t really smell

The wonderful smell

Of Angel-Wings.[1]

My children are playing. They are beckoning me to see, to hear, to feel, to taste, and yes, to smell the wonderful presence of God. Lord, let me say yes. Let me say yes to the glorious invitation that you give us in children.

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[1] Mattie Stepanek lived only thirteen years, suffering from a rare form of muscular dystrophy. In that time he published five best-selling volumes of poetry, penned peacemaking essays that influenced international leaders, and wrote the lyrics for an award-winning country album. See Mattie J. T. Stepanek, Heartsongs (NY: VSP Books, 2001), 9.