The kitchen stool sits conveniently between the stove and the island. I usually sit at it and wait when the food is in the microwave or on the stove top for a short amount of time. I check email of read part of the paper as I wait. It has now become a launching pad for Sammie to all the amazing kitchen implements and toys that we have stowed there, out of her reach. When I was making cookies with her a while back we had a very close call, she took a step to the right and I caught her mid-air by one arm. I could have dislocated it in my attempt to save her tumble. Yesterday, right in front of both Emily and I she stretched out in an airplane motion diving for goodies. I rescued her as Emily said, “I know it’s not right, but I almost wish that she would fall, maybe she would remember.” I thought, “yeah, but broken bones could also happen and I’ve had them… definitely not fun.”
I listen to them now, out in the snow, Sam’s first snow. She is gleefully singing. I hear the scrape of the shovel against our drive, the first snow is always amazing to me. I’m glad for this early gift to our family before Sammie goes back to the Ecuador. Suddenly, the happy sounds are replaced by shrieks that enter our quiet house. Something has happened, I rush down. Emily laments, “She loved it, too much…her face was red and her mittens we so wet, she would have stayed until she was frozen solid.”
She is a two-year old who needs limits.
Her mother Emily is a 30-year-old that needs limits.
I’m a 58-year-old that still needs limits.
God gives us a road map, he loves us so much. The limits are there for a reason.
In all of our classrooms we have codes of behavior, without these limits, chaos would reign. Yesterday, of course, as we were waiting for the day-care busses and one of my friends just couldn’t follow the limits that I had put in place. I called him over and just sat him in my lap. He was comforted, order was restored. He needed proximity.
Every day I intend to sit near Jesus in this season of decadence, this season of too much. I need proximity also. His limits restore me daily.