It is similar with Duck, Duck, Goose. When I engage in a rollicking game I watch the kids wiggle and lift their eyebrows almost off their foreheads in a desperate campaign to be picked. I usually slump low in the saddle, avoiding eye contact, hoping to be ignored. I have no interest in standing up off the sidewalk, a laborious effort these days, and hustling around the circle after a youngster who will scamper just out of reach anyway.

 

In church this week the minister invited anyone to help him mix flour and eggs in a bowl. The average age of volunteers who leaped from their seats was four. The six kids who made it to the demonstration table hovered with rapt attention, eager for a chance to dump a scoop of sugar. Not a single adult even feigned willingness. 

 

Why is it that children believe everything is interesting? Stringing lights on the tree? Let me at it. Chopping veggies? I'm in. Heck, toddlers even like washing dishes.

 

In imagining how heavenly marriage will evolve I am beginning to slide the focus away from perfect circumstances and toward the capacity of my own heart to be grateful for a rain puddle. 

 

Photo by Jenny Stein

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