My great niece came for a visit. She’s 5. K.J. has wonderful qualities about her, most noticeable is that she skips or Irish dances instead of walking. The day she arrived we packed up and went to the neighborhood park. She skipped out the van, through the sand, across the suffle board fields, and anywhere that her little feet would carry her.
As I watched her the question hit me, “What is going on in her heart that makes her skip? What does a ’skipping heart’ feel like?” It sure did seem playful to me, getting back to how God says to me, “Angel, you play and I’ll work.” And why don’t I skip? Granted I’m over 40 but honestly, I don’t feel like skipping.
For 48 hours I watched K.J. skip and dance. Slowly the thoughts began to come. A skipping heart is free. A skipping heart is restful. A skipping heart is secure. A skipping heart is safe. A skipping heart is loved. A skipping heart is light. A skipping heart is playful. There it was the ‘play’ word again.
I began to imagine the absurdity of K.J. taking on the responsibilty to work and bring home the bacon like her dad does. Think of it, he’s headed out the door one morning and she goes with him.
Corey looks at K.J. and says, “Where are you going?”
“Why I’m going to work, Dad. There are bills to pay, home repairs to finance, college funds to fund, and food to purchase. I’ve got to get busy,” she says.
He kneels down, looks in her eyes and says, “K.J. that’s my job. Sweet girl, your job is to play. I’ll take responsibility for all these things. I made that promise when you came into the world. I work so you can play. You don’t need to do my job, I can handle it. You stay and enjoy every moment playing.”
“But Dad are you sure you can handle all this? I’m not convinced you’ll take care of it,” she replies.
“I’m absolutely positive I can handle the load,” her Dad says.
If it’s crazy to think a 5 year old girl would take on the responsibilities of her father how absurd is it for me to think I’ve got to carry God’s load. The space between my ability verses His is emense and yet every day I pick that oversized suitcase of life responsibility up and start dragging it through the day. I’ll never skip dragging a suitcase.
I’m considering that growth for me is not that I don’t pick up the suitcase handle but how quickly I drop it. Even as I write there are suitcase handles beckoning me to grab them.
But in that beckon I hear a whisper, “Angel you play and I’ll work.”
“But Dad, I’m not sure you can handle this one, it’s really big,” I say.
“I assure you I’m big enough to handle it, I promised the day I made you that I’d work so you can play. Go play.”
I’ve got to go now, I feel a skip coming on.
