Chocolate Trust, Part I

This study is a work in progress. I am learning to trust God, and that doesn't really happen overnight. 


I nanny two kids. Abigail is 9 months old, and Charlie is 3 1/2. This lesson is about Charlie. Charlie is strong-willed and confident, smart and funny. He is one of the sweetest, kindest, and funniest kids I've worked with in a long time. I like him, and I like to give him the things he wants. Sometimes, though, he asks for things I just can't give him. For example, he asks to drive the truck, or for me to make it stop raining. Sometimes, the things he asks for are just bad for him: he wants to drink chocolate milk that's 7 parts chocolate and 1 part milk, or to play with the lawn-mower. And, other times, I just want him to learn that he can't have everything he wants.

Like most three-year-olds, Charlie knows the power of a decent whine. It can be trying, and initially, I had no idea how to make him stop. I wanted to sob and stomp along with him.

Then I just decided that I'd treat him the way I'd want to be treated. My approach to his little episodes of displeasure has been to ask him to look me in the eye and say, "you can trust me."

Charlie can trust me. I always hear what he asks for (he's definitely persistent). And I want him to be happy! I want to give him the things he wants and thinks he needs ("But, but I have to use my duck-call inside!"). But I guess, somehow, that being older and a little bit wiser helps me to see that having every request granted doesn't produce instant or lasting joy. Duh.

But how often do I forget that for myself? I pray and pray and pray and when God doesn't respond the way I expected, immediately, I straight up curse God and die. It's humbling to compare myself and my periods of doubt and anger with the Lord to Charlie and his little tantrums. But it's so accurate. I do not trust that God hears me, loves me, and has plans to prosper me. No matter how many times He tells me, no matter how many times He shows me...I doubt God.

But I may have had a breakthrough last night. I'll talk about Charlie's breakthrough, first, though.

Charlie is a guy's guy, through and through. He pees outside, run around naked, and rolls in the mud. Yesterday, he wiped out on a major hill on his bike. He lay in the dirt, a sob rising in his chest. My heart stopped: I got on my hands and knees to help him up, clean him off, talk him through it, get him in the bath, dry him off, hug him, promise him that it was going to be okay. He was very quiet. He barely made eye-contact. I couldn't really blame him -- I'm sure it was a little humiliating to need such holistic and even invasive help from his brand new nanny. But that afternoon, he came downstairs and crawled onto my lap. He snuggled and giggled for almost half an hour. It was unbelievable. He's never been affectionate with me before. I felt so warm, so loved, and so special. I felt like he knew I was there for him, that I was his friend, and that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for him.

I felt like gold.


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