obedience

Ellie and I were leaving to go out the other day, running late, as usual, so I was stressed and probably making her feel rushed. Neither of us are morning people, and we were tired and sleepy and probably both wishing for another half hour of Dora the Explorer. She also knew that where we were going would involve my leaving her with a friend. So no shocker that she didn't want to go, and let me know in the tearful, mildly belligerent voice she uses when she knows she's not going to get her way but still needs to register her protest.

But here's the kicker. As my  sweet kid sat on the bottom step, her genuinely tearful voice saying again and again, "But I don't want to go.  No. I'm NOT going," she stuck out one foot, then the other,  so I could put on her shoes. Lifted up one arm, then the other, so I could put on her shirt. Followed me out the door, trudging behind me, momentarily distracted by a butterfly in our garden (LOOK, MOMMY - do you see it?), climbing up into  her car seat and remembering again, "But I don't WANT to go."

And here's the thing - I wasn't angry or upset that she didn't want to go. I got that she was tired and apprehensive about going somewhere without me - I've felt that way a million times before myself. What touched me was that she went anyway. Her words weren't what spoke the loudest to me. Her outstretched feet did. I ached for her tired, apprehensive little self, even though I knew she'd have a great time once she got there. And her honest and grudging obedience simply filled my heart with love and gratitude for her. Don't you guess that's the way the Father feels about us? Cast all your cares on Him, because He cares for you. He really does, you know, even when it just feels like he's pushing you out the door for no good reason. And on those days, I'm pretty sure it's okay to tell him how you feel, all the while He bends over you, putting shoes on your outstretched feet to prepare you for what lies ahead.