When I was four, my dad became an associate pastor at a large church in Rocky Mount, NC. Being too young for school, I began to attend the church's daycare program. This meant that I got to ride with Daddy every day to work, and when he was finished with work for the day, he would leave his office, walk down the hallway and take me home.
My sister, being a year older than me, began kindergarten, and so I was left in daycare alone. Daddy and I began a routine of sorts: every day, he would take me home from daycare, fix me lunch and then set me in front of the television to watch Muppet Babies while he took a nap. Every day I would sit Indian style on the carpet, my little neck craning up at the mammoth screen as I sang along to the cartoon's theme song. I could probably sing the song word for word to this day.
Daddy took naps because, well, he loves to take naps. I watched television because, as a child, I always refused to take them. I remember that before my mother went back to work (she quit her job when she had my sister and didn't go back until we moved to NC when I was four), she would put my sister and me down for naps. My sister, always the obedient, sweet child, would take a nap. Myself, being the "mess" of the family, would pretend to sleep until my mother left the room. Then I would tip-toe around the house until she eventually discovered me, which she usually did. After a few years, she gave up the hope of naps for me.
Sometimes, when Daddy had business to finish in his office, he would pick me up from daycare and I would sit down in a leather chair, with big brass buttons,that swallowed me whole. Sometimes, he would let me play on a typewriter he had. Oh yes, he had a typewriter- I just made myself look ancient. I would type away, having no idea what the letters on the paper meant but inventing stories in my head of what they said.
The story I am about to tell you, I'm not really sure how or why I even remember, but it's somehow been carved into my memory all these years, and I have affectionately stowed it away on the bookshelves of my mind to be pulled down on a bad day like an old and familiar story.
One day, something terribly tragic happened that broke my four-year-old heart. What it was, I have no clue. Probably a scraped knee or some teasing from a playmate. Anyways, to a toddler, whatever it was, it was devastating. I ran to my dad's office, sobbing over the travesty that had happened. On this day, I was sporting a fresh mask of face paint- maybe I was crying because I was submitted to such cruel and unusual punishment as face paint which makes your face endlessly itch from the mere knowledge that you are no longer allowed to scratch it. Anyways, I ran into his arms and he scooped me up, put me into his lap, and sat me down in his leather chair behind his desk. He held me, rocked me, shushed me and listened to me hiccup between tears what had upset me. To a grown man, my childish heartache probably sounded silly and trivial but if he had thought that, he never showed it. I remember clearly, the frown lines etched into his forehead as he listened with concern as if I was telling him that the world was coming to an end. Once I was calmed, he picked me up, put me on the floor and helped me clean my tear-streaked face. As he was wiping my tears, I saw with horror that his clean, crisp collared shirt was covered in my face paint. To be precise, there was an exact imprint of a miniature face pressed against the chest of his shirt. I apologized, terrified at the mess I had made. He looked down at his shirt and began to laugh. "It's just a little paint, boo," he said.
Now, what was the point of my rambling of childhood memories? Well, for one, I had the best childhood, and I love to remember it. Secondly, I had and still have the best father ever and everyone should know it. Lastly, this memory has matured into my personal analogy for Christ over the years.
You see, when hardship falls on us, we only have to run to Christ, our father, and He will sit us in His lap. He will wipe away our tears and listen to our troubles, no matter how big or small, as if they were the most important thing in the world. When we have been comforted, He will look down at His white robe and see the stains of the sins that we have left in His lap. Then, He will look up at us and laugh and say "It's just a little paint."
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