wait.

 

not yet, little one.  it isn’t time.

i whisper to my youngest, when he awakens before light, excited about a day of adventure and exploring.  i know as much as his heart longs to dive in, to rush off, to be about the day, if he doesn’t rest a bit more, he’ll find himself lagging, missing the experience he can’t wait for.

 

i know if he doesn’t eat, he will be sorry-faced, ache in his tummy, irritated he’s hungry and can’t enjoy his experience.

 

i know if he doesn’t take time to dress warmly, to bundle up, as my mother once said, he will have chapped hands and aching ears and raw cheeks and peel-y lips.

 

i want joy, oh how i want it for him.  i want to give him every blessing and every opportunity to soak in every experience from a day.  i know, his mama, what will best help him do that, will best keep the joy from being stolen.

 

not yet, little one, my papa says.  not this outing, not this food, not this house.  it isn’t the one for you.  you need more time to grow.  you need training before you can be trusted to be generous with that blessing, to appreciate it for all it is worth.  your body needs to heal before you can indulge, and your mind needs to learn that sometimes restraint is most healthy.

 

 

oh, Papa, you do know me.  when you say to “wait,” it may be for this minute, or for today.  it may be for the month or the year, and you must may say no to something for a lifetime.  you say wait, because you love me.

 

have you heard the word, “wait?”  has it been whispered to you in the still of the night, as you wonder if the sun will ever rise?

 

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