She’s climbing stairs.
We found out the other night when we glanced the other way for three seconds and she had scaled the two stairs up to the hallway and two more up the main staircase and wasn’t slowing down. Eek!
So now her new territory is this short, seven foot-ish long hallway at our front door. She can climb the two stairs on each end, then is stuck because she hasn’t yet learned how to climb down.
I’ve tried teaching her. I spin her around, show her how to put her legs first, then her arms, then repeat. And she giggles and sorta goes limp and as soon as she reaches the ground floor, she shimmies right back up those two steps again.
Today I decided just to watch. She climbed up, turned around, then reeeeeached for her favorite toy that was down one step. That reeeeeeach + the laws of gravity = head first dive and a nice goose egg on the noggin.
But, after a few cuddles and tears, she was right back up those two stairs again, spinning around and looking at me as she teetered on the top edge of the hallway. She sat straight up, started waving her hands and scrunched her face up and made a sort of snort/pant/whine. Translation – get me down from here!
I bent down to show her again how to spin, legs first, then arms….and she violently pushed my arms away and waved and scrunched and snorted/panted/whined even more.
So I tried again. And again, she refused.
So I sat back and just watched. She really wanted to get down those stairs. And where she had no fear before, she now knew that something that didn’t feel all that great just happened and she sure didn’t want to feel that again. So, Mom, please don’t teach me how to get down the stairs. Just pick me up and put me on the floor and I’ll be just fine, k?
It hit me.
That is me. It is so me.
I don’t want God to teach me. I just want Him to rescue me. And I blame Him for the pain I’ve felt when I’ve tumbled down and ended up with a goose egg on my noggin. When He comes close, I snort and pant and whine and push and complain and blame…and then wonder why I’m still stuck in this seven foot-ish sized hallway of habits/struggles/failures/thought patterns. I don’t want to turn around and go feet first because, hey, wasn’t that what happened last time I got hurt? Oh, wait. What? I guess I was reaching for something instead of turning around and going backwards (because, in His Kingdom, isn’t everything always done backwards?). So here I sit, on the edge. Until I choose to be teachable, to learn, to change, to follow.
And He waits, too. So patiently. And I’ll keep waiting for her.
She’ll probably learn before I do.