With every change in life comes the challenge of remaining a child. Progression may be a marker of growth, but who outgrows being a son or daughter? As youths, we get buffaloed into acting older. The thing is, though, there is no rushing maturity and wisdom. It is a slow and patient process. Slow, like good BBQ and patient, like fishermen. When we try to be bigger than we are, we only highlight our brattiness. We only stall growth.
There is something innately wise about saying, “I don’t know, teach me,” and then surrendering to the process. Not for the reward of being recognized as older and mature or seasoned, but for the reward of learning something—particularly about God and the kingdom of heaven. Knowledge is a foundation of wisdom. And knowledge comes from being willing to be seen exactly where we are instead of where we are not. Maturity doesn’t insist on showing off, or boasting. It subtly reveals itself like a breeze on a summer day or like a whisper in a crowded place.
Jesus says it plainly. You can’t enter the kingdom of heaven unless you become like a child (Matthew 18). Like a leader? No. Warrior? Nope. Intellect? Nah. Great reputation? Nay. Like a child. How ridiculously better is that!?!?
I watched a small boy, maybe four, sitting near the bow of a kayak in front of his father. He had a paddle made for small hands and motioned it from the left to the right. He barely tipped the water, but there was a smile as long as Tennessee across his face as the boat gracefully glided the grey waters of the lake. In childlike joy, perhaps in his imagined achievement, he was unaware that the forward movement was solely provided by his father.
The father’s paddling was near perfection. The paddle sliced the water with strength and precision. While one end dove deep, the other jumped up like a fish through the surface. A steady, swift rhythm. The father’s smile was as present as the boy’s. Watching his son’s efforts, he leaned forward, letting the boat continue on its own, lifted his paddle horizontally over his son’s head and locked him in. Little arms sitting on big arms, the father began to paddle again, teaching along the way. He fell back into rhythm—left, right, paddle down, then up, over and over again.
Someday, the boy will understand a paddle stroke and perhaps will propel his own boat across a lake. But on this day, the four-year-old rejoiced at being four and in the nearness of his father, and the father rejoiced at young imaginative attempts.
How feeble my attempts
in the shadow of my Maker
I paddle without intention
he stays in perfect rhythm
Rest easy, my child
rejoice in me
I’ll lock you in
my arms of strength
I will not strive
nor will I toil
I’ll only lean into
his ever nearness
Brave Sparrow 