Sticky Hands
We have an issue of sticky hands at our house, most specifically with my youngest son. On any given day, he will ask me to wipe his hands of whatever sticky substance has come his way (i.e., syrup, lollipop, popsicle). Now, the issue is not the sticky hands, but the drama that goes along with it. B., being a rather verbal child, will tell me over and over again that his hands are sticky really up until the moment I have wiped his hands clean. And since he thinks he can't really move ahead with his life until his hands are clean, I usually have to drop whatever I'm doing to immediately meet his need.
A few mornings ago, I made waffles for breakfast. To backtrack a little, we had slept in a bit (7:00), so breakfast was of the upmost concern the moment everyone rolled out of bed. I, being the sacrificial mother I am, made the waffles BEFORE I had made my coffee. Well, actually, I had started the water boiling for the coffee, but that doesn't really count because it was still going to be a few minutes before I could partake. So, I got the boys situated at the table, syrup and all, and I went back into the kitchen to finish making my morning vice. It then began. "Icky! Icky! Icky!" came from the dining room. In B. language, that meant sticky. Figures. But how can you have waffles without syrup? I replied, "Just a minute, buddy, I'm going to finish pouring the water for my coffee." I could taste that rich, dark Sumatra now. "Icky! Icky," this time with a few tears beginning to roll. I quickly finished pouring the boiling hot water into the coffee press, grabbed the closest towel, and went to save my youngest son from his sticky hands.
Later I had a chance to reflect on this incident, and I realized how true to life sticky hands really are. I get sticky hands all the time. I get myself into situations I don't like, or God puts me in circumstances that, well, quite frankly, feel sticky all over. And then I often have to stay in the stickiness for awhile. Maybe God does need to make His coffee, but I think it's more like He does have a world to run, and I demand that my stickiness be His first priority. I always clean B.'s sticky hands, well, at least until he's old enough or coordinated enough to take care of it himself. (Ummm, I wonder how many years that will be.) And God always cleans my stickiness, too. Maybe not in my timing, but He always does. And though I know I will continue to have sticky moments in my earthly life, it is good because I know I'm always washed clean.
A few mornings ago, I made waffles for breakfast. To backtrack a little, we had slept in a bit (7:00), so breakfast was of the upmost concern the moment everyone rolled out of bed. I, being the sacrificial mother I am, made the waffles BEFORE I had made my coffee. Well, actually, I had started the water boiling for the coffee, but that doesn't really count because it was still going to be a few minutes before I could partake. So, I got the boys situated at the table, syrup and all, and I went back into the kitchen to finish making my morning vice. It then began. "Icky! Icky! Icky!" came from the dining room. In B. language, that meant sticky. Figures. But how can you have waffles without syrup? I replied, "Just a minute, buddy, I'm going to finish pouring the water for my coffee." I could taste that rich, dark Sumatra now. "Icky! Icky," this time with a few tears beginning to roll. I quickly finished pouring the boiling hot water into the coffee press, grabbed the closest towel, and went to save my youngest son from his sticky hands.
Later I had a chance to reflect on this incident, and I realized how true to life sticky hands really are. I get sticky hands all the time. I get myself into situations I don't like, or God puts me in circumstances that, well, quite frankly, feel sticky all over. And then I often have to stay in the stickiness for awhile. Maybe God does need to make His coffee, but I think it's more like He does have a world to run, and I demand that my stickiness be His first priority. I always clean B.'s sticky hands, well, at least until he's old enough or coordinated enough to take care of it himself. (Ummm, I wonder how many years that will be.) And God always cleans my stickiness, too. Maybe not in my timing, but He always does. And though I know I will continue to have sticky moments in my earthly life, it is good because I know I'm always washed clean.
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