My youngest is bad at hide-and-seek.
Like, really bad.
Maybe you’ve experienced it, too? You’re babysitting or playing with a younger sibling or you’re a parent yourself, and you begin the search of the wayward youth when all of a sudden (not 30 seconds in) you hear, “Come find me! Are you coming?” over and over until the blanket or curtain they’re protruding from begins to quiver in delight.
Ru, my 6-year-old, does the same. This morning he kept calling until I found him buried under the pillows on my bed. At first, I pretended not to know he was there (that’s the rule of hide-and-seek with littles, afterall). The more I “fluffed” the pillows the more giggles I obtained. Until, finally, he burst up from the center with the biggest smile on his face. “Again!” he cried.
At this, I sighed.
“You don’t have to go away,” he said. “Just stay there and I’ll hide again.” In the same spot. Two inches from me.
“Okay,” I said with a laugh.
He threw the pillow over himself and we replayed the same scenario a few more times. Every “seek” was met with the same giggles and delight.
See? Really bad at hide-and-seek.
Or, maybe, he’s just really good at wanting to be found.
“And they were bringing children to (Jesus) that he might touch them, and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, "Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.” -Mark 10:13-14
The same thing Ru wants is the same thing we all want, deep down: the desire to be found and called out of hiding by someone we deem safe. Someone who loves us.
As we grow up, so does our reality. We become jaded, get hurt, and learn not to trust so easily. We stay hidden longer. We become experts at staying quiet, holed up in our dark places. There’s no more giggling and shouting, “Come find me! Are you coming?”
Our silence can grow loud in our lonely desperation.
One of the most precious gifts I’ve received as a parent is realizing how fervently God loves.
The care I have for my two boys is sometimes painful. It’s an “I’ll die for you” kind of love. And if I—an imperfect person—can love my sons this much, it blows my mind to know that my heavenly Father loves me even more.
His is a radical and unending sort of love that my feeble hands can only scratch the surface of.
And at one point, I was hiding from this glorious love. The Creator of the Universe who chose me out of darkness. My Savior. I was lost in my own thoughts of not being enough, that as a child I never had to question.
Until one day, the echo of my childhood came over me, and I opened my heart and mouth:
“Come find me! I’m here! Are you coming?”
You better believe He was quick to respond. In fact, Jesus was already there, inches away. He’d been waiting for me to call out for quite some time.
We can learn many things from the children in our lives. How to spot wonder in a parking lot or a dentist office, how to make friends quickly or to laugh without restraint. But most importantly, we learn that though we are lost for a little while, we can be found, if only we would call out.
I’m sorry there haven’t been any updates on our life/stories. We’ve been in the midst of house updates on our new place, beginning Classical Conversations/homeschool, going deeper with our Church family, and trying to feel settled amidst all the change! It’s been a lot, but still very thankful we’re back in Illinois (though we miss Colorado too!).
Thank you for reading my thoughts. I’d love to hear yours too!
Keep seeking wonder,
Emily Barnett
Mmm, this is beautiful. Thank you for sharing!
Oh goodness I love you and those boys and this whole thing.