-Seat belt maneuvering -Car door noises -Cold -Wind -The darn birds
Each obstacle that doesn't yield a screaming baby is a Russian-Roulette-caliber sigh of relief; it is hope and life and an hour of nap time to accomplish things.
I lifted Sam onto my shoulder without incident; he was exhausted, and all 30 lbs of his two year old self pressed heavy into my chest. I laid his blanket over his back to shield him from the elements - one of my hands tenderly, protectively on the back of his head, and the other bearing his weight under his thighs.
Halfway between the car and the house, I felt Sam stir. I felt him flexing and releasing his legs, his butt, over and over, fighting for sleep.
Now here is the delicate balance, the dangerous dance: You must get to the bed ASAP, but without increasing your heart rate enough for the child to sense it. You have to move quickly, fluidly, and silently with a little bit of a waddle, so that your bent knees absorb all the bumps and jostles.
When Sam started to squirm, I picked up the pace and whispered, "Shh, shh, shh, don't wiggle."
He kept on flexing and squirming, trying to carve out a warm, safe space in the crook of my arm. "Shh, shh, shh. Relax your little butt. I've got you."
Then I said, " Trust my arms. Trust my strength. Trust my love."
And I felt a familiar surge in my chest. The God-speaking-surge.
How many times has He whispered those words to me TODAY?
"Kate, stop wiggling. Relax your little butt. (How glorious that in relation to all the cosmos in the hollow of His hand my butt is very, very small.) Trust my arms. Trust my strength. Trust my love."
I am a strategist and an energy-preserver and I work really well within structure and flounder outside of it - and that makes me a wiggler. That makes me want to know what's going on and why - not so that I can control it (I tell myself), but so that I can prepare for it. I'm very flexible as long as I know exactly what is going on. (So, about as flexible as an anvil.) I say, "Jesus, your will be done. But give me a heads up as to exactly what your will is, so that I can adjust my attitude and my expectations and generally get on board." I get agitated when God does not consult me about His plans, or at least update me. A little common courtesy is all I ask.
But that's not how faith works. For who has known the mind of the Lord? And who has been his counselor? Oh the depths of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God. How unsearchable his judgments and his paths beyond tracing out. (Romans 11:34 & 33) Faith is not for the faint of heart. And God tells me, every day, some days more patiently than others, every time I stop for long enough to listen:
Stop wiggling. Relax your butt. Trust my arms. Trust my strength. Trust my love. I can carry you.