The Peak of Inspiration

On a rare occasion I find myself in the right place at the right time.  Such was the case a couple of weeks ago.  I witnessed something that I knew had significance, I just wasn’t sure what it was at the time.  To tell the truth, I’m not sure I completely understand it just yet.  If you read this, and have a suspicion I totally missed the lesson, please be kind enough to point that out to me.

I was visiting at our school.  Sort of a forced visit you might say.  It happened that I was to lead the devotions that particular morning, so I was nervously standing against the back wall, rehearsing my lines and contemplating how best to go about the object lesson I had concocted for the children. 

The opening bell rang.  The children filed in.  My attention was instantly drawn to a little boy, some 5yrs and 10 months old.  I was keenly interested in how this boy was getting along, and that morning, things didn’t appear to be all that great.  His eyes were red and wet.  His shoulders were shaking, and I could hear his muffled sobs from where I stood. 

This wasn’t entirely unexpected.  This had been a developing situation for a week or so.  Something, somewhere had triggered some anxiety.  I don’t know what, and I don’t know when.  I did suspect that a few circumstances that morning had exacerbated the problem. 

It isn’t that I didn’t want to help, or that I hadn’t tried.  I would have liked nothing better than to calm his heart and dry his tears.  But I am not a doctor.  I am not a psychiatrist.  I have no degree or certification that would help me understand the mind of a child.  The only credentials that come after my name are DAD.  And I’m sure you realize that I was not awarded those letters because I was worthy, or qualified, or certified.  I didn’t pass any test to get those.  They were given to me as a matter of course.  Now, I carry them with me everywhere I go.  The stay with me like they are superglued to my shoulders.  Sometimes they are heavy, many times they are not. 

Back to the boy in the front row…  After everything and everyone was organized, the music leader suggested that we should sing “This Little Light of Mine”.  Everyone stood, and she started us out.  The children did the actions as usual. 

From my vantage point in the back row and on the far left side, I could observe most everyone there.  Everyone was singing cheerfully, holding up their little light.  Not a care in the world.  Happy and glad to be with their friends at school.  Another great start to a good week.

Everyone except the little boy.  His eyes were still streaming tears, his shoulders were still shaking.  He was trying to be brave.  I could tell that. 

But the picture that will stay with me, that is imprinted on my memory and will be for some time, is watching him stand there and hold up his candle.  Singing a word when he could.  His arm was shaking and his hands were wet from wiping tears.  But that didn’t stop him from joining the collective commitment to hold up our little lights and let them shine. 

And it made me wonder if I excuse myself sometimes.  If I look around at the enthusiasm, the talent, the happiness around me and I give myself a break.  I focus on my fears, my tears, my anxieties and I tell myself that it isn’t my day, my week, or my year.  That the help, the care, the light, will need to come from somewhere else this time.  That my tears have rendered me ineffective, useless.  And so, I stop the song, I drop my hand, I pull back, and I hide my little light.

When, in truth, I have hidden my light when it was at its greatest potential, and the bushel is hiding the very thing that someone needs.   

There were dozens of hands in the air that morning, each shining a little light.  My eyes were drawn to one of them.  And I don’t need to tell you that it wasn’t all the smiles and cheerful singing that caught my attention.  I won’t diminish the importance of that.  It is a good thing. 

My heart reached out to the one.  The one that didn’t want to be there, but came anyway.  The one that didn’t think he could sing, but tried.  The one that had every reason to quit, give up, back out and stop trying.  The one that reached way down, found a little strength to lift his light.  And let it shine.

I will leave this with you.  Don’t quit.  Maybe something is hurting you.  Maybe you don’t even know what it is, can’t name it.  Those things will come, the Bible promises as much.  But don’t forget.  You have a light.  It might be little, but someone needs it. 

And you should also remember this.  Your Father is there.  He might be behind you, he might not be saying much.  But I can guarantee you this, He is watching you.  He sees the tears and the shaking shoulders.  He sees the circumstance, the burden, the anxiety.  Unlike me, He understands it.  He absolutely sees your little light.  And, I think, it makes him proud as he watches you hold it high.   

And if you will look for him, you may catch a glimpse of him watching you, making sure you are ok. 

Look a little closer, and you will see that He is crying too.  I should know…