He caught my attention as he walked toward the sanctuary. Week after week at my church, the little ones are called to the altar and sent forth to participate in their own Liturgy of the Word. Some approach slowly, hesitant to leave the safety of their parent’s pew. Others race to be the first. The one who caught my attention had his head tucked into a stuffed bunny half his own size.
The grey worn creature flopped over his arms, years of companionship and compassion infused into the matted faux fur. I know the significance of these friends; my own children had their own versions, which could only be snuck away in the dead of night and sent through the washing machine.
My Catherine’s was a purple mouse, a friendship that started when she was six weeks old, as she was wheeled into recovery after stomach surgery. The little stuffed mouse found its way from her crib, to under her pillow, to the front pocket of her backpack when she set out for to school. After she died, her brother tucked it into the pocket of his cargo pants. I think sometimes we all just need something to cling to, that knows our whispers and absorbs our tears.
As the little one with the bunny half his size made his way forward, he stopped suddenly realizing his lovey was flopped over his arm. Oh, the quandary and the bravery of being torn between the floppy grey rabbit and the children amassing at the altar. As the situation unfolded, I could not help but smile along with the mama who sat knowing this moment would come. Truth is, there comes a crossroads for all of us when we are faced with surrendering what we cling to, at a time that we feel far from convenient.
My heart raced with the little one’s panicked stare and yet, the mama remained steadfast. With the slightest nod and brightest of smiles, she put up her arms ever so slightly. Without hesitation, he tossed the bunny to her, watching as she propped it up in her lap. He squared his little shoulders, and, with a tinge of sadness, he made his way to the other children at the altar.
I have pondered the entire scene: the comfort of the familiar, the warm assurance and predictability of what I cling to, existing in parallel with a longing to surrender and soar to spaces unknown. It all seems so scary and yet, at the same time, exciting. Watching the scene unfold as the little one made his way to the sanctuary, I was reminded how surrender starts with simply placing what I cling to into the care of the One who understands my trembling heart.
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This is part of the series called “The Human Being Fully Alive” found here.
