It's the in-between that drives Campbell up the bonker wall. He typically has a litle hissy fit when I change his clothes, especially if the onesie I have is something that pulls over his head (taking it off is a quick stretch of the collar and up and over that noggin... putting it on is more of a handle, as many times he wiggles his head and the onesie gets stuck covering his face--not his favorite, I can tell you.) There are exceptions, of course, because sometimes he's just dead tired, or he's really playful and he doesn't cry... but he does do his best Bend it Like Beckham and kicks his legs out at a surprisingly strong and rapid pace, while trying to turn over all the while.
|Listen up, Daddy. Pay attention and you might learn something, eh?|
Back to changing him... mostly he just cries.
He also cries when he's sleepy. He knows that sleep makes him feel better, but he hasn't made the connection that, if he goes on to sleep, things will be okay. He figures he'll just cry and scream, not understanding that, "Hey, if I just chill, trust my Daddy, let him hold me close, I can rest peacefully, sleep and wake up refreshed, anew and hungry for more."
You see where I'm going with this, don't you?
I'm the same with my own Daddy. My Heavenly Daddy, that is. In the same way that Campbell doesn't get it that a slight few seconds of discomfort, when I pull a wet, slobbery, dirty onesie over his head and force his arms back through the sleeves will all result in something clean, dry, warm and safe... in the same way that Campbell doesn't understand that going to sleep is good, rest is necessary for a tired body... its the same way that I, a stubborn, foolish, sinful Child of God, will typically forget that my own Heavenly Father needs to put me through a little discomfort, put me through my own version of a wet, slobbery onesie of life in order to be safe, warm and dry.
And when I'm tired, when I'm fussy, when my life just doesn't feel good and I'm in desperate need of rest and refreshment, if I will just trust Him, if I allow Him to pick me up, cradle me in His arms and hold me close, trust in His safety that no one, nothing, not a single thing will harm me when I am there... if I could remember that, life would be better. Warmer. Full of "anew" feelings.
But unlike Campbell, who's memory is short right now, and can probably only piece together familiar sights and feelings with faint recognition, I have a good memory... which means, that many times I don't forget these things, these lessons... calling upon God to hold me when I'm beat down, or to help me while life pulls the wet onesie over my head... aren't forgotten. They just aren't heeded.
I'm sure there is a spiritual analogy for poopy in the diaper, but that's another post.