Tip of My Iceberg

When my girls were little, they loved putting on my big girl shoes and slopping around the house in them. I didn’t have the normal assortment of heels, but what I had was used for dress-up and drama.

Iconic. All kids dream of filling shoes bigger than what they currently have.

Watching several of the grands this weekend, I couldn’t help but laugh as Cal, in all of his fifteen-month big boy mode, walked around our house in big-brother Ryken’s shoes.

He’s learning to walk. His steadiness is dependent on the surface where he walks. In the grass, the up and down of small divots and uneven places have him wobbling a bit more. On the sidewalk he moves out at a quicker pace, adjusting to cracks and crevices because he could see them. Carpet is safe, but tile is hard.

When he put on Ryken’s big shoes, he stood with effort. There wasn’t as much control in these things that stuck out further than his toes reached.

That didn’t slow him down one iota. He moved out as if this was the way it was supposed to be. He wasn’t bothered by falling and picking himself up again.

He kept trying.

I laughed until I recognized I was Cal. Putting on big girl shoes that too often are two sizes too big, attempting to do the things I was never intended to do.

I’m not that good.

Trying to make life work well for others, especially my family. “Fixing” other folks’ problems instead of just lending a listening ear. Thinking if I don’t step in and help, who will? Who else could get it done?

I’m quite responsible, and I have a hard time saying no. When I’m asked to help someone out, to do something I really have no time to do, I don’t think twice. I’m all in. I agree to whatever is being asked–and I’ll do whatever it takes to get it done well.

Even if I gripe and groan about it and complain to others of how busy or tired I am. I want to be liked, thought of as helpful.

I was never meant to take the place of God in the lives of others. And yet I grab opportunities to demonstrate how necessary I could be to friends and family.

I’m not Jesus. He accomplished a task on the cross that has led many to an assurance of eternal life. Knowing and experiencing God now and always.

I’ve not done anything like that. I’m unable to make life right for anyone else. Not even myself.

It doesn’t stop me from trying.

The next time I try to wear those too-big shoes, never meant to be mine to wear, I want to stop and consider what I have been asked to do by God: depend on Him, live out loud in His presence and power, and trust Him to do what only He can do.

Save me from my messiness.

Cal’s going to figure it out. He’ll grow into these shoes. Eventually.

There will always be bigger shoes to fill.