So Big

Well, I think it's official that I'm indeed a crazy old gray-haired lady. Last Sunday, I went to Walmart to buy some groceries, and I left my list at home so I had to wander aimlessly up and down the aisles trying to remember what I needed to purchase. As if that wasn't enough to place me squarely in the "there's a woman in aisle 14 who looks like she doesn't know where she is" crazy woman category, I then spent a full half-hour trying to decide what brand of toilet paper to buy. Walmart was out of the type I usually buy (I was down to my last roll at home and didn't want to have to stop at another store ... remember, I hate to shop), so it was a quite legitimate dilemma. After that, I talked to a lady who was giving away juice samples, and I'm pretty sure I teared up more than once during the conversation as she talked about her children and her dogs. But the topper ... what proved that I've crossed over to the side of complete craziness ... was what happened as I waited in the checkout line (the very long checkout line, I might add).

There was an adorable little girl who looked to be about two years old in the cart in front of me, and I smiled at her when I first got in line behind her and her mom. She laughed at me and started babbling away in baby language. Her mom said, "Sorry, she's kind of a chatterbox and doesn't know a stranger." I assured the young mother that I didn't mind at all and told her that my only grandchild had been kidnapped by her parents and taken across the border and was being forced to become a Canadian against her will. And as the little girl played peek-a-boo with me, mooed like a cow, clapped her hands and chuckled at the funny faces I made at her, I couldn't help but think about C.J. being so far away and about how much I wish I could spend time with her.

It seemed as though we waited in the checkout line for an hour, though I'm pretty sure it was only a few minutes. I was talking to the mom of the little girl when all of a sudden, the little one squealed loudly and raised her hands over her head. "What's she doing?" I asked the mom. "She's showing you that she's so big," said the young mom. "Are you so big?" I asked the little girl. "Are you just so, so, so big?" She laughed and squealed and raised her hands again and again until the time arrived when her mom had finally paid for her items and was ready to leave. I waved goodbye to the little girl and told the mom I didn't usually make a habit of talking to strangers or playing with babies I've never met while I was waiting in line at Walmart, and assured her that I really wasn't a crazy woman despite what my family or friends may think. Yep, I'm pretty sure that the young mom and the folks in line behind me that day would beg to differ.

All week I haven't been able to get the little girl and her "so big" antics out of my mind, and those of you who know me or who have been reading my blog for a while know that I see lessons from God in some unusual places from time to time ... OK, a lot of the time. The more I've thought about the little girl with her hands raised in the air, I couldn't help but think about how often I raise my hands in pride and say to God, "Look how big I am, God ... I am so big ... I can figure this whole life thing out on my own." The truth, though? The truth is that I'm not big at all ... the truth is I'm very, very small indeed, and it's more than a bit obvious that I sure make a mess out of things in a great big hurry when I think I'm so big. When I think about one day standing before the throne of God ... man, oh, man ... I am so very, very, very, very small.

Forgive me for all the times I think I'm so big, God ... so big that I try to do it all on my own ... so big that I don't listen to Your voice ... so big that I miss Your leading, Your lessons, Your love. Help me to remember how small I am, Father ... help me to remember that it's when I'm at my smallest, Your bigness is so very, very, very big.