I sometimes think of this and still hang my head--smile, feel bad, smile, feel a little nauseated, smile...
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The
Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional Living
Chapter
12/ Shenanigans.
Part
2 (Previous post contain the previous chapters.)
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When
my niece was one and a half, we were best buddies. I thought she was the most
amazing little person on the planet, I still do. I loved anything that had to
do with her and would play whatever imaginative game she wanted to play. That
was about the time in her life that Hide and Seek was the favorite game.
She
was walking but not quickly, and mostly steady—but would topple over for no apparent
reason periodically. She would wobble when not paying attention and sometimes
just fall onto her butt. “I okay,” she’d say and get up and keep on doing what
she was doing. Of course she had the most adorable light brown curls and big
blue eyes. She couldn’t say my name, so I was called “Airy.”
She
became used to “finding” me; I’d hide in an obvious location, and she’d seek. I’d
find myself halfway behind a door or standing around a corner—and the game was
on. I wait until I saw her, make eye contact, say “Boo!” and she’d giggle and
run, as a toddler does, away. Repeat. There was an unwritten rule that I had
not fully acknowledged or realized was there until I broke that rule, one
evening. There was always a light on in the room.
On
this particular evening, the game began like always. I hid at least three
times, was found, and then onto my next oh-so-obvious-unless-it-is-dark
location. The lights in the kitchen were off. I stood around the corner to the
right, in plain sight. There was an island in the middle of the room, for a
toddler, it would have hid just about everything else. I saw her toddle around
to the left and behind the counter, so I slowly crept around to the right.
“Boo!”
My
niece didn’t see me, her head was turned, I didn’t notice at first. The poor
kid jumped the distance of her height, and for a moment, looked at me with
shock and disbelief. She was always very expressive but I had not been
acquainted with this look before. And then the funniest and saddest thing
happened.
This
tiny little person started saying my name over and over again.
“Airy!
Airy! Airy! Airy! Airy! Airy! Airy! Airy! Airy! Airy! Airy! …Airy!”
It
went on and on for, what felt like, an eternity. She only knew a few words so
it must have been frustrating to try to communicate about the betrayal. It was sweet,
funny and at least twice as sad as any other emotion.
My
compassionate side froze; I didn’t know what to do next. I could not make it
better. I cried, apologized for each, “Airy!” she said, and laughed because I
didn’t know what else to do…I broke her. I actually broke this little being’s
trust.
The
poor little kid wouldn’t go into the kitchen for the rest of the evening, even
with the lights on. I finally talked someone into playing the game while
holding her. And things got a little better, but they were not fixed. I will
never forget that look and her little reprimanding voice saying my name one
hundred times.
I
carry a little, toddler-sized, scar from this incident. But she loves me and
loves scary things so maybe I didn’t ruin her after all.
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When
we fall, are wounded or are scared I wish it was always so easy to jump up and
say, “I okay!” like my niece. Sometimes when others break unwritten rules we
are not sure how to handle the momentary reality—but holding off offense until
we understand as much as possible is a good idea.
I
believe “the game” of life is easier when we allow Jesus to coach us with His
wisdom. Even through the trial of the cross He was never offended. He can intercede
for us; He can even hold us when “the game” gets too intense.
