Multitude Mondays: Why I Don’t Ever Want To Grow Too Big To Play
We were all crammed on baby-bear chairs in the back of the first grade classroom.
Me. And twenty other moms wiping sweat beads off of our foreheads on a sultry May day near the school year’s end.
The kids were lined up in a perfect row in front of the whiteboard at the classroom’s head. Each child held a laminated sheet of writing paper, that precious elementary-school-kind with thick red lines separated by light blue dashes in the middle.
The students were beaming, swaying and bouncing with excitement and flashing their toothless grins.
Finally the teacher stepped in front of the wiggly line and the noise dropped to a low hum.
Brown-haired Mom waved from her baby-bear chair, and little girl straightened her shoulders and began to read…
My mom. I love my mom because she makes me macaroni and cheese and she tickles my toes when I’m laying on the couch. I love my mom because she reads me stories before bed and she watches my favorite tv show with me. I love my mom because she helps me get all the tangles out of my hair and she tells me I’m pretty. I love my mom because she is the best mom in the whole world...
The bashful author peeked her eyes over her poem and looked right into her mommy’s gaze.
Mommy nodded and smiled while little girl blushed, bowed, and happily headed to the back of the line.
We broke into gleeful applause and waited in quiet expectation for the next reading.
Odes to mommies filled the room.
The audience of grateful guests responded with tears and giggles, camera flashes and winsome winks.
I waited in sweet anticipation for the lines of gushing gratitude and love that were sure to flow from this girl of mine.
After all, this child was a writer like her mommy. At eighteen months old she’d begun to talk and had never stopped.
There was never enough time in one day to fit all her words.
This was the child who often called me to her bedside in the middle of the night just to articulate a few more thoughts before the sun rose and a new day dawned, the girl who stocked my closet shelves with stacks of little-girl journals and homemade cards.
I could only imagine what she had concocted on her little laminated sheet of paper…
Eloquent lines about our Sunday afternoon walks and Saturday morning pancakes.
Accolades for my silly singing and impromptu story telling.
Praises for our girl dates and game nights…
I wiggled my fingers in a two-finger wave, and Lizzy flashed me a confident grin. Then she began to read loudly and clearly.
“I love my mommy because she is never too big to play with me.”She paused, caught my eye, and then finished with a sanguine smile.
“And that’s why my mommy is the best mommy in all the world.”
I joined in the clapping and tried to absorb my daughter’s succinct little poem. She had chosen to celebrate such a small thing.
Or had she?
She doesn’t scribble on paper measured with light red lines and pale blue dashes.
But at nearly-twelve-years-old, she still loves to spend a day in play.
And now and then she still invites her not-too-big-to-play mama into those small and sacred moments.
Thanks to my curly-haired girl, I’ve come to think of play in a whole new way since that long-ago day in the first-grade classroom.
It was something I did with my children to get from breakfast to nap time, from supper to bed time.
It’s a gift of grace for rediscovering the marvelous in the midst of the miraculous, for infusing the wearisome with wonder.
When I live in that space of play where my children reside, I embrace the now. Because that’s the only moment they know. They aren’t planning out the future or brooding over the past. They are merely enjoying the present. Unwrapping the gift of today.
Time is a relentless river. It rages on, a respecter of no one. And this, this is the only way to slow time: When I fully enter time’s swift current, enter into the current moment with the weight of all my attention, I slow the torrent with the weight of me all here.
I can slow the torrent by being all here. I only live the full life when I live fully in the moment. And when I’m always looking for the next glimpse of glory, I slow and enter.
And time slows. Weigh down this moment in time with attention full, and the whole of time’s river slows, slows, slows. …
When we enter into a moment of Tonka Trucks or tree house fun, when we put down our to-do lists, turn off our computers, and leave the mounds of laundry for later, we put ourselves in a posture to see God. 
When we crawl on the floor and and push that Barbie car across the carpet or crouch in the closet during a game of hide-and-go-seek, we lower ourselves in the most marvelous of ways. Crawling may not produce anything but holes in our jeans, but adjusting the posture of our hearts will indeed breed wonder.
You may discover that while you are driving Hotwheels through the dirt and parading those Polly Pockets down the hallway, you are really just paving a road for God to enter.
For He is drawn to the low in spirit. And to those with childlike hearts.
The Overflow:“I live in a high and holy place, but also with the one who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite.”–Isaiah 57:15
Counting all these small moments of play as grace…
1160. Playing ball tag at the park after an impromptu picinc.
1161. Playing hide-and-go-seek on the playground with the little ones and my dear friend Allie.
1162. A just-before-bedtime game of rummikub with Lizzy.
1163. A bike ride in the rain with Joshua. Squealing louder than the thunder as we soar down the hill! (And much thanks for healthy legs to pedal back UP!)
1164. A spa on the back deck–big girls pampering little girls with foot massages, hair glitter, and make up.
1165. Watching my man teach Joshua how to pitch baseballs in the front yard early on Sunday morning.
1166. Rob playing goalie in the 90 degree summer heat as Lizzy practices her footwork.
1167. A walk in the dark with my husband- time to talk and get away from our noisy life.
High praise, indeed! I believe God has a playful spirit and we bless zhim tremendously when we bear this likeness. Lovely,lovely thoughts, Alicia.
I’d transport you right back here if I could. So glad God’s connected our hearts even though we don’t PLAY in the same town anymore. Much love, dear friend!
“infusing the wearisome with wonder” . . . oh, I needed that vision.
thank you. you have ripped the false important of my “adult world” to shreds.
God bless you for sharing this wisdom.
I can barely see to type a comment..tears have filled my eyes…when I saw that picture of Brooke, I longed to be back in Pella! Back with our friends! I want to come play at your house….I want my kids to play at your house! I’m so thankful for the picture and thankful that you, sweet friend, are a deep set memory of joy for me! I will forever love you!
As for your incredible post….thank you! Tomorrow I will take the time to play! I need to do that more…slow down…and play!
Thank you for the simple reminder not to feel guilty when housework and chores go un-done because of mornings spent playing with my daughters.
I really like what you said about how getting small allows us to draw closer to God. You are so right. I need to remember that as I embark on our “31 Days of Play!” Challenge.
Thanks for visiting my site. I love your thoughts and will be following along with you.
Keri @ Growing In His Glory
Oh, such words of wisdom here. I love how you describe the profoundness of play. Love this!
Great! What a joy to read this beautiful and touching things. I appreciate that you so open/frank writes. I feel inside, something like: I want to play with my kids like you. You are a good example. Thank you. The photo with the viewmaster / binoculars is funny.
What a sweet reminder that we are never to big to play! Love, love, love the list of moments of play. Beautiful gifts!
Alicia–thanks for stopping by my place today and your kind words. I see from your site you’re an Educator (‘retired’) as am I–Special Education, just an asst. now. And you’re busy with 5 beautiful children. Our son has 5 and they are a delight and a challenge. I can tell you on this side of motherhood, the years will fly by and you truly won’t be able to contain the blessings.
Love your ‘voice.’
Aww I love that! We get so caught up in life that we often forget to play. 🙂 My kids are just babies, but I can’t wait until they are old enough to write poems like this. 🙂 Lauren, lholmes79.wordpress.com
Slipping in from L.L.’s this Monday. Reading your post brought back memories for this mom of 40 years, memories which never cease to give us joy and goosebumps! Thanks for not growing too old to play — I’m not going to either because now, even though the grandkids think they’re too old to play, there are great-grandkids to enjoy! Beautiful post filled with love.