When Jesus Wears a Blue Wal-Mart Vest
I was elbow-deep in soap suds when I heard the muffled giggle.
And then the sing-song voice floating from the corner of the kitchen.
“Mommy! Don’t you see me?“
I relinquished a dirty skillet to the dishwater, wiped my drippy hands on my sweatpants, and walked around the counter that stood between the voice and me.
I spotted the pink blankie first, then the girl hiding beneath it.
She was huddled quiet on the dusty hardwood under the kitchen table, her pjs planted right on top of the soggy Cheerios and Pop Tart crumbs left over from her siblings’ hurried breakfasts.
“Mommy,” she said with a grin, “You were so busy you didn’t even know I was here.”
I glanced at the clock and wondered when she’d snuck from bed without my noticing.
Maybe when I’d stepped out the front door to wave at the yellow bus?
I dropped to my knees and crawled under the table with my littlest one.
“You’re right,” I whispered. “I wasn’t looking for a princess in my kitchen today.”
She batted her baby blues and offered some sage advice. “You should open your eyes more.”
I smoothed back her fly-away hair, kissed the top of her head, still sweaty from sleep, and thought about those words I’d read in that bright yellow book sitting on my coffee table:
We live in an attention-deficit culture more adept at gaining attention than paying attention, furiously beating bushes that advance our interests while not paying attention to burning bushes that showcase God’s activities.
I had read it twice, my stomach churning with conviction.
Because it’s not just hiding breakfast guests I fail to see;
it’s the faces right in front of me…
The friend who waves from the carpool line with a forced smile and hallow eyes.
The clerk at Wal Mart who scans my milk jugs and bags my toilet paper as she tells me about her niece who just buried a fifteen-year-old daughter.
The child hovering on a barstool and giving me a play-by-play of the recess drama that hurt her feelings agin, while I eye the clock and stir the supper on the stove.
I’m not worried about missing the occasional princess beneath my kitchen table.
It’s the royalty sitting in a dusty grey mini-van; the princess disguised in a blue Wal- Mart vest, the child of the King munching Oreos at my kitchen counter that I don’t want to overlook.
I want to live my life at full-attention.
Or at least spend my days paying attention to the right things.
My blanket-caped company crawls out of hiding, and she beckons me to stretch my legs, too.
Maggie is circling her fingers through a pool of spilled milk, and I reach for a dishrag to clean up the mess.“Wait, Mommy! Don’t wreck this.
I’m painting a butterfly right here on the table. Don’t you see it?”
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Amen. Amen. Amen!
This is absolutely beautiful and I’m going to feature it on my site this weekend.
Thank you for writing and linking it up.
This is really beautiful, and convicting. Perfect really.
hello and embraced. My grandmother still holds my hand when she sees me.I will be quoting what you shared “touching anyone is a sign of love and feopkwshil.”Thanls for stating and unveiling the final fallacy. Always love hearing that one
Really great writing! More writers should care as much as you do about the content they produce. This has really given me a good reason to think more on this subject. Thank you for this.
pm |A very happy New Year to you also and everyone on CW and other sites who have been trying to get to the truth since summer of 08, in spite of the many insults, threats, false imprisonments etc. I would add sane to this list also, just plain simple sane.“May we all be blessed with peace, prosperity, good health and a new, legitimate President.”
keep up the good work on the site. I appreciate it. Could use some more frequent updates, but iÂ’m quite sure that you have got more or better things to do , hehe. :p
Alicia, you are quickly becoming my favorite blogger…
I pray this often in the morning before I head out to work — that God won’t let me miss His appointments in the middle of my crazy day.
You’re doing well to know how you’re not doing well, I think. It’s hard. Sometimes I fall into the well of social media because I need an escape…and adult interaction…
Our kids help us to stop and see in ways like nothing else. So grateful for that. You should link this one with me next week on Wednesday as Duane Scott and I host a book club on Wonderstruck. We’re learning how to find wonder in the mundane of the everyday, just like you did here.
I see Jesus in this. Thank you. (coming from IP today)
You have opened my eyes this morning. Time to put down the beeping chirping handheld blinders and go see the world that lives within these four walls of home.
Thank you for the reminder. Stopping by from imperfect prose.