Yesterday, Anna, who is 2 1/2, had set up a little bed for herself and her two babies on the couch. She was siting on a blanket laid down on the couch and then had the babies on her lap. She was trying to get a second blanket pulled up over herself and the babies, but it kept getting stuck on her foot. She was getting more and more angry, and she was shouting with frustration. I finally came over and asked "Can I help you?" She wanted to do it herself, though, and told me so.
As I stood over her, watching her struggle, I knew how easy it would be for me to help her. Something that is so hard for her, to arrange a heavy blanket, would only take a moment for me to fix.
Finally, in desperation and tears, she said I could help. I pulled the blanket off her foot and straightened it on her legs. She was relieved that the blanket was now positioned correctly and so went on happily playing with her babies.
As I walked away, I thought about myself in relation to my Heavenly Father. How often are there times that I am struggling with something in my own life but am reluctant to ask for heavenly help? Do I insist on "doing it myself" when a loving Heavenly Father stands ready to assist? Do I try to handle things that, in my immature spiritual coordination, are difficult tasks for me but would be simple things for Him? How often do I wait until I am angry and in tears with a situation before I think to kneel down and petition heaven?
Just some food for thought.
3 comments:
I have been thinking about this lately. It seems I also have to have someone ask me if I have prayed about it - and then it hits me- I have not prayed about it. I don't know why sometimes it is the last thing I do. I also feel that if I am doing my best everything should just work out, and sometimes when I'm doing "my best" it leaves out the very important part of getting down on my knees, asking for help, support and a guide (being humbled). It's great when our own kids can break it down to the simple basics for me. And here I thought a was the teacher.
I like that thought, Amy. "And here I thought I was the teacher."
So, so true. And why do I need constant reminders of something I already know?
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