Stop

I think it was just before Gracia turned 2 when this happened. She came down with a high fever, and was not her usual self. I tried to cheer my little bunny up by singing one of her favourite songs, one which has never been met with anything less than bouncy enthusiasm. But instead of breaking into a smile, Gracia put up a hand, like a traffic policeman, and said stop. I tried a different song, but still it was not welcomed. I thought it interesting that she had not instead simply turned away, or ignored me. Had she done so, though, I'm quite sure I would have been a lot slower in understanding her cues. She would probably have had to endure through unwanted song after unwanted song.

It was an unexpected lesson for me, from a toddler, no less, of the need for a time to be silent. During that bout of illness, Gracia had probably appreciated my silent presence more than my silly songs - that was enough for her. And, it would probably what was needful for me too. After all, caring for a sick toddler is exhausting. Sitting and doing nothing would have given me a few extra moments of much-needed rest.

Now, she uses stop to cue me into exact stanzas of songs to sing.  She would point to whichever line she would like me to sing*, and say stop quite quickly if it were not the line or tune she was searching for, and promptly point to the next possible line. Usually, this happens when she is in the process of searching for a particularly catchy part of the song she likes, and wishes to listen to.

Stopping is often the most-needed thing. But I seem to be constantly needing or wanting to do that next thing - whether it be more housework, putting together yet another home-cooked meal, preparing more not-yet age-appropriate home learning activities, or even chasing after and capturing thoughts which nip at my line, only to leave, all too quickly. I ferret and fret, scamper and hardly stop - till I am stopped by sheer mental or physical exhaustion.

When Gracia says stop, I always do. How could I not, when it is said with such definiteness, and accompanied with that outstretched traffic policeman arm?

So let me be led by the intuitive wisdom of my child. Let me stop, long enough to rest - so that I will be able to love and serve from that place of rest; long enough to notice - to allow the precious moments to be written in the notebook of my inner being; long enough to listen - for the questions and wonderings of a curious little explorer - not to provide answers but to better understand; long enough to listen for His direction and re-direction on how exactly I should be spending these breath-long, fleeting days.

This makes me feel like one of those ipens that struggling readers use to help them read aloud unfamiliar words.