Tip of My Iceberg

We had a big shindig at our home over the weekend. The kind where people gather to laugh and talk, to eat and greet, to enjoy one another in the freedom of someone else’s home. I love it because it’s my home. It makes me feel a little like Glenda, the good witch in the Wizard of Oz, who graciously and generously grants good things to her Munchkins. (Not that these were my munchkins, though they were sweet and I’m quite sure could carry a tune if need be.)

What was a delightful treat was having so many children be part of the gathering. They add a level of celebration and enthusiasm that lifts everyones’ spirits. (Of course, it’s fueled to a ridiculous degree by sugar. We weren’t privy to the eventual sugar crash that accompanies this sugar high. Gratefully so. We had them during the times of high energy and cute grins.)

What is uniquely endearing about children is their genuine gratitude for the unexpected fun that happens on any given day. The winsomeness of being sweetly surprised. And making fun where they can.

Children delight in fun. They delight in surprises. And in the middle of such fun, even tasks can morph into delight.

Our young friend David was a part of our weekend adventure of fun. When most of the guests had left, he and his brothers, along with my grandchildren, were tasked with picking up cups, water bottles and any other garbage that had been left. They all engaged with gusto, making it a game to see how fast they could do it. And when they were done, because David was one of the younger ones in the pecking order, he was asked to get all of the kids bottles of water. (Work can drive a thirst!)

He made it a game. Fun.

I don’t know how he carried all those water bottles, but he made it back to the room without dropping one.

Impressive.

I want to be like David. Quick with the grins, delighting in being with friends, enjoying now because it’s where he is. Not worrying about what he can’t do or can’t have. Not dwelling on disappointments.

Delighting in the moment.

Too often as an adult, I forget how easy it is to smile. To hum a song as I walk outside in the beauty of God’s creation. To help a friend out just because I can. To answer kindly when someone asks a question I think is unnecessary.

And even though I forget, God doesn’t. He delights in me.

Because He can.

“The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.”  Zephaniah 3:17

I’m not only an object of God’s affection. I’m the focus of His delight.

That makes me smile.