We have an ongoing tradition in our home of having our 8-year-old daughter “pay” for unexpected, unbelievably sweet, thoughtful, adorable things she does that so overwhelm her mom that it is nearly impossible to contain the emotion.
This “pay” usually comes in the form of shmuggles–sudden outbursts of serial kisses and hugs given at a rate of 4 per second, in as many places as possible, with sound effects. It is up to the complete discretion of the mother, of course, to decide who the giver or receiver of the shmuggles will be.
You can imagine how intense it can get from time to time.
Well, while we were away for Thanksgiving, I got a little carried away. Kaki seemed to do one cute thing after another, and those shmuggles were piling up. My husband joined in the fun by “protecting” Kaki from her mother’s outrageously demonstrative emotion every time Kaki called to him for help.
On one of those very occasions, Kaki laughed and squealed saying, “Oh, I’m so glad to have a father who understands what I’m going through!”
Her daddy heard her, and knew exactly what to do to help.
It reminded me of a small group meeting a couple of weeks ago when someone asked, “What are you afraid of?”
“That when it’s all said and done, no one will have heard my voice,” I said. I couldn’t believe that same old lie that no one cared enough to hear me had reared its ugly head again.
I had a mini-rerun of a dream I had all through my twenties. I would be in great danger, chased by someone who intended to harm me. Then I’d realize that I would never get out of the situation alive unless I called someone for help. I would get to a pay phone, pick up the receiver, and then find it impossible to insert the coin into the pay phone slot. And since the coin wouldn’t enter, I couldn’t make the call, and I couldn’t be heard.
What a nightmare. I would have to remind myself that God, my father, hears me, and he knows exactly what to do to help.
That’s true for you, too.
Go ahead and try it.