I recognized the look in his eyes as soon as he turned around. The little boy started crawling toward the door, and then came the furrowed eyebrows and the crying.
Each Sunday before worship service, his parents dropped little James (name changed for privacy) off in the children's wing of the church. It was only a few weeks ago I began serving in the kids' ministry—the "crawlers" room to be exact, which of course is for children who are crawling. Every week, little James begins crying as soon as he realizes his parents are gone.
On this particular Sunday morning, I was the closest one to him, so I scooped him up and consoled him until his cries became less frequent. However, little James is one of those babies you cannot put down without the crying and tears beginning all over again. He rubbed his eyes and rested his head on my chest, clearly tired and ready for his morning nap but fighting sleep with all his might. So I held him and walked around the room with him, and we spent some good quality time together.
His cries still came periodically, the distress apparent on his face before the audible cry would come. I patted him and rocked him and told him everything was going to be okay. "It's okay. I promise," I whispered into his tiny ears when he began to whimper. Voices and crying echoed from down the hall and even from within our room, but I let it fade and simply focused on this little boy.
Stock photo from Pixabay.com
As I held little James, the Lord began to speak to me. It was the day after my last shift at the hospital, and I had woken up with a sense of panic that I had made the wrong decision.
What was I thinking? I can't just quit my job. I made a horrible mistake.
Yet as I swayed back and forth with little James, consoling him each time he became anxious and afraid, a distinct sense descended on me that this is how the Lord wanted me to rest in Him.
He wanted me to lay my head against His chest and experience the panic and fear that would naturally come after quitting a job, but He wanted me to experience it all right there, close to Him. He wanted me to stop chastising myself for feeling doubt or for feeling dumb because there was no distinct reason for me to be afraid. He simply desired that I feel those things while allowing Him to hold me.
The same patience and love I had for little James was what the Lord felt for me. He would happily whisper, "It's going to be okay. I promise," when I felt anxious for no reason, when I furrowed my brows and fought sleep and grew restless in His arms. He was letting all the clamor and voices and expectations fade into the background, and He wanted me to do the same. He wanted to hold me. (And He wouldn't even be sore the next day like I may have been after holding children for so long!)
As I paced the room and patted little James' back, I found peace. I found peace about resigning from my job because Jesus came back into focus in my heart and in my mind. I found peace about pursuing full time writing and editing as I remembered it was a step of faith, not foolishness. For a moment, the noise of the world faded into the background, and it was just God comforting me, and me comforting little James—both of us covered by a supernatural peace, both of us being held.
Next week, I'll show up at church and probably so will little James. I'll hold him and rock him, and I'll pray he learns as much about the character of God and His tenderness as I do in that classroom.