Anyone who’s ever met me probably knows I LOVE children. Especially little ones. If you’re a parent of one or more kiddos, you know this because I’ve probably offered to babysit within the first five minutes of our meeting. If you’re a Facebook friend, you know this because roughly 50% of my activity involves Youtube videos of random infants living their lives. And if you’re an acquaintance of any sort, and we’ve had a conversation in public… I’m so sorry. I’m sure I lost focus at least once if there was a child nearby. Let me say that I do value our friendship and whatever topic we were discussing. However, the tragedy of living on a college campus is the 0-5 year-old demographic’s serious underrepresentation. In my humble opinion, opportunities to observe cute kids doing cute things are too few and far between.
Really, it’s what drew me to the speech pathology field in the first place. I enjoy deciphering unintelligible fragments that young kids say, and sharing in their joy when they finally get the message across. I love inferring their thought processes and observing the way they express, gesture, and connect. A child’s mannerisms are just so interesting. They explore and discover. They dance with wild abandon. They perform a song for strangers. They ask questions. They create and create and create without a single consideration of another’s opinion. They decide and act, no time in between.
I’d like to say that I’ve gained wisdom and maturity throughout 18ish years of schooling, producing in an overall “improved” Elizabeth. But along with that, I’ve lost part of who I was. I can’t pinpoint exactly when, sometime between age 5 and age 22. When was the time I first remained silent on something important? On what day did I first decide to change my clothes because I feared what peers might think? At what age did I last act impulsively?
The nostalgia is real, guys. Ask my roommate: I started tearing up the other day listening to a Disney Channel song. I take every chance I get to sing the ABCs or spend an hour playing pretend with a kiddo. And I don’t want to be five again… being an adult is awesome (and there’s no way they’d let a five-year-old on the World Race!). But being a child gives us a license to be utterly ourselves. Raw and unadulterated. There’s no fear.
Nowadays, I feel like fear is what drives every decision I make. I take precautions. I love canceling plans. I take the safe, secure route. I mull it over, plan, strategize, research, think some more. I’ll get back to you next week. I rationalize it as “wisdom and maturity,” but in reality, I’ve decided to trust myself more than God’s provision. More preparation = less uncontrollable factors (AKA where faith comes in handy). The teeny tiny detail I’m missing is, of course, I’m not omniscient or all-powerful.
The apostle John addresses my conundrum this way: “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear…” (1 John 4:18).
My love is cautious and rational. I don’t like being vulnerable or showing weaknesses. This manifests in my relationships with people and with God. There’s a lot of fear, because there’s less faith in the other person.
A child’s love is reckless and passionate. A child isn’t afraid to show his or her true self. Their love is very nearly unconditional and full of forgiveness. Jesus said that “unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). The bond between a mother and a child is so strong because of the child’s total reliance on her– and so it should be with God.
God’s love is absolutely perfect. It overshadows any earthly relationship, even that of a mother and child. In Isaiah 49:15, God compares his love for us to this familiar bond. Tim Keller explains it so well, you should just take 3 minutes to watch the video below.
Did you watch it? Did you cry? No? Oh ok, me neither.
Christians believe Jesus knew how to live the ultimate meaningful, fulfilling life. He loved perfectly and approached the cross fearlessly. There’s an inverse relation here between love and fear. As I approach the scariest year of my life, I’m pursuing the anecdote to fear: a Christlike love.
And in the process, I need a childlike faith, putting pride aside to RUN the race marked out for me with abandon and trust.
