Four Years and Holding

I’m sitting over a latte, mulling on two important facts: 1) there is a particular amount of time a person must wait before drinking hot beverages, and 2) there is no way to stop the pain from burned taste buds.

As I’m contemplating these vast mysteries, in walks a little boy with his mom. His white hair just brushes her knee, if that. He has big dark eyes that are gazing in awe at the glittering glass jars stuffed full of coffee beans and ground tea leaves… the shining, hissing contraptions that make puffy clouds for your hot chocolate… the smooth glass case overflowing with pastries, cakes and goodies… the twinkling lights… and, of course, all the intricate people within the little shop.

I vaguely note their entrance. That’s one of the amazing things about coffee shops; it’s the only place you can go and feel like you’re with people whilst talking with no one. So I’m sitting there, flipping through a magazine that had something to do with Rome on the cover. I’m not really reading; I’m skimming for photos. I’m scraping them off the tops of pages and cover stories.

There’s a sense you feel when someone is looking at you. Sometimes you feel butterflies, sometimes fear (depending on who is looking). There is another feeling, though, that is altogether different when it’s a child gaze - a quiet innocence looking at you.

I peer up from my photos, and there he stares. Big dark eyes looking curiously at me. We’re near eye-level, with me seated, and he stands in full bravado with one chubby hand wrapped around his mother’s finger. Without hesitation, without fear or thought to what anyone may think or worry of rejection, he waves. Not a little wave either; a huge, arm-sweeping wave that cries out “HI!”.

I can’t help but wave back at him, and he grins a wide pearly grin. He has achieved at four what most men work for their entire lives trying to achieve: recognition from a woman.

He and his mom take a seat at another table and begin to play checkers on a cloth board. The little boy laughs without restraint, jumping his mom’s checkers, his checkers, checkers he makes up in his mind. But he’s pleased with his game and that’s all that matters. As I get up to leave, he waves once more, like we are old friends. I wave good-bye, and wander out into the frigid air.

I wonder, why can’t we be more like that? More outspoken, more courageous, less fearful of other’s perceptions. We are all beings full of opportunity to wave boldly at those strangers passing us by, to state our faiths or thoughts or feelings. But so often we are afraid of those other people sitting in the dark corners with judging eyes, waiting to snap at you to behave, to not interrupt. And we quiet ourselves to please.

Or we do this… All of us, I believe, are like that little boy with God. We are just grasping at his finger as he leads us where He will (because, let’s face it, if it were up to us, we would be wandering into the street or snatching cookies from the display case). He leads us, and we hold to Him.

The problem arises when we have this opportunity to wave at the people around us, people without their Father, and offer them His hand, too. The problem is that, usually, instead of being bold, we hide. We duck behind God’s proverbial legs and peek out at the world, waiting for all that is dark and scary to drift away. We don’t try to be bold because bold is scary. Bold is different. Bold is putting yourself out on a limb with no security. But how can we honestly grow as Christians if we use God as this buffer for the world? We aren’t supposed to be hiding; we’re supposed to be right in the thick of it.

Today, be bold again. Wave big and be proud of it. Forget the pessimistic outlook of others. And just be four again.