The playground was busy! Almost everyone was under the age of six, with the exception of a few worried parents that could not let their children grow outside their protective reach. What struck me most was the dominating theme emanating from girls and boys alike.
“Watch me!”
In English, Mandarin, Tamil, and even in a few languages I did not recognize, the pleas were clear. Each wanted the special individuals in their lives to observe and congratulate them on their bold moves! I found myself transported to playgroups with my daughters and even earlier when I was the young one demanding my father or mother’s undivided attention. I did not worry about anyone around me. I refused to consider what s/he was doing. The only thing that matter was me! Watch me, watch me!
Decades later, across time and cultures, the voice of the young continues along the same theme. We want to know we are special! We want to standout, drawing the attention from the one’s we hope and trust love us, reluctant to let anyone other than ourselves be in the spotlight.
At some point in time the voices grow silent. I suspect that thirst remains but we have given up hope that someone, anyone is paying attention. Even as the silence grows, I read the words of the psalmist; “Feature trumpets and big trombones, fill the air with praises to King God.” (Psalm 98.6)
What if the call of the child is the call of every child of God’s? What if the answer lies in crying out louder and looking beyond the immediate to God directly? If there was infinite time, patience, and attention, every child on that playground would know and feel that s/he was special, that s/he was a child of God’s.
I looked, laughed, and cheered the kids on. I know a God who is infinitely patient, longing to give every child her/his undivided attention. If God continues to willingly believe that I am special, it is the least I can do to the kids on the playground; standouts all.
