There's a little girl I love, maybe 5 years old now. Her name is Chrissy. I haven't seen her in a very long time. Things happen and seasons change and people go away. But I got to have her, constantly, for a little while. I'm so thankful for that.
And I remember.
It was a Sunday morning. I don't remember what was happening in my life at the time, but I do know that my heart was crumbling away, piece by piece, and I was hurting. She was sitting on my lap behind her mama and her brothers. She liked to do that. I never understood why she always chose to come to me, but you don't see flaws when you're 5 years old. You love simply and fully and selflessly. I suppose that might have been why.
Worship had just ended. It had been a particularly powerful song, and my heart was weak, and as I had lifted my free hand (I was holding her with the other arm) I had begun to cry with no thought as to the little girl nestled up against me and her reaction.
I sat down with Chrissy when the worship ended, and the offering plate began to go around. I was still unsteady. I probably should have handed her to her mama at that point, but I find a certain comfort in little ones, so, selfishly, I kept her. At one point she glanced up at me as I was attempting to discreetly wipe away the dampness on my face.
Chrissy's eyes grew big. She carefully reached up one little hand and poked my face with her tiny pointer finger. "You're leaking," she whispered. I gave her a sort of smile.
"I know." Her delicate little eyebrows crinkled.
"Are you crying?" I gave her a quick nod.
"Just a little. Don't worry." But of course, once a little one is concerned, you can't satisfy them with a quick answer. I should've known better.
"Why? Do you have a owie?"
"Sort of. I have an owie you can't see. It's on my heart."
"Where?" Chrissy gazed at me, confused. I pointed at my chest, about where my heart would be; where I hoped it might make a little more sense to her. "Ooohh." Realization dawned, she made the connection to my tears, and she reached up and laced her arm around my shoulder before laying her head on my chest. I held her for maybe 2 minutes. The song for the offering ended, and the worship leader encouraged everyone to get up and say hello to each other. I stood up with her and said good morning to the strangers around me. They smiled at her and shook my hand, cooing when she reached out hers for them to shake as well.
We sat back down. There was still a dull roar as the congregation spoke all at once. I had assumed Chrissy had forgotten all about our little conversation. But she sat up in my lap and grabbed a curl of my hair.
"You could come and live at my house. You won't be sad there."
And then her mama came and took her and carried her away to her nursery class. I sat there and stared at nothing and worked on memorizing her smile. I still didn't understand why such a little girl cared so much about a heart that was so unstable. I didn't think she would wrap her arms around me so easily if she knew how much was wrong with me and my current situation. It might scare her. Even so, I was thankful for her sweet little hands and voice and face. Thankful that she didn't know, and just saw me for her friend, and was content to. Thankful for her love.
And then I realized something.
How much more does my Father love me than a 5 year old little girl?
Fast forward to the present.
Lately, I've been struggling with feeling like a burden. I'm afraid of being annoying. I don't want to be an obligation. And I guess sometimes I pin my insecurity to Him.
But...I'm not a burden to Him. Not in the way my mind perceives when I hear the word, "burden". I've given the word a negative connotation...but there is nothing but delight in my Father's heart when I go to Him.
Matthew 11:28-30 says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
I always forget that God wants to be with me always, wherever I am, even when things get confusing. I need to stop divorcing Him from my mess. He isn't withholding me from the gift of His presence. Only I am.
Come to Me.
Come to Me, My love. I can care for all of you. Give Me your hurt, give Me your anger, give Me your confusion. Give Me your dreams, give Me the things that make you sing for joy, give Me your heart. Give Me yourself.
Come. Come, come and remember Me. Come and lay yourself down. Come and rest in My love.
Come, My love. Come and be in My presence. Come and be at home with Me.
You won't be sad here.
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