The Big Gift of Smallness

[soso]

The Big Gift of Smallness
ALICIA BRUXVOORT

“This is the embodiment of true love: not that we have loved God first,

but that He loved us and sent His unique Son on a special mission /to become an atoning sacrifice for our sins.”

1 John 4:10 (VOICE)

I’d side-stepped a stack of stuffed animals and trooped over a jumble of Barbie dolls /as I followed the sound of her muffled sobs.

Passing the bunkbed, I’d stubbed my toe /on her wooden dollhouse / before reaching the dresser in the corner with the missing pink knob // where I’d found her hiding /in the slender gap /between the wardrobe and the wall.

We’d had a bad day. A tantrum-throwing, word-slinging, frustrating kind of day. We’d traded cuddles for conflicts, silly songs for sighs, peace for power-plays. And, to be honest, the selfish side of me just wanted to leave my disgruntled daughter sulking in the corner /while I lingered on the couch with a cup of coffee and a covering of quiet.

* kind of ; somewhat

* to leave [my disgruntled daughter] [sulking in the corner] 5형식

* sulk; be silent, morose, and bad-tempered out of annoyance or disappointment.

* disgruntle; angry or dissatisfied.

But four years of parenting this fiery child had taught me that humility goes further than harshness, and grace always has a place in our worst moments. So I dropped to all fours and crawled into the gap, right next to my glowering girl.

“May I join you?” I’d whispered.

She’d cast me a solemn nod and reached for my hand, slowly threading her delicate fingers through mine. Then she’d leaned her head /on my shoulder and exhaled a jagged sigh. And, together, we’d sat squished in weary silence /behind that bedraggled bureau.

* bedraggled; dirty and disheveled.

That was years ago. My littlest girl doesn’t hang out /behind her dresser /anymore. She’s more likely /to be found hanging /from the monkey bars /on her elementary school playground. But not long ago she brought home a picture //that reminded me of our corner-huddling days.

At the top of the page was a simple writing prompt /typed in boxy letters: “I know my Mommy loves me because …”

And just below the words was a crayoned picture of two small stick figures /sitting behind a tall white box /decorated with pretty pink knobs and my daughter’s response scripted in messy second-grade scrawl.

“I know my Mommy loves me because … she makes herself small when I really need her.”

“See, Mommy?” My little artist exclaimed /as she pointed /to the picture () she’d drawn directly below those fortuitous words. “That’s you and me /in my secret hiding place ... Remember how you used to come find me /when I was crying?”

I nodded and felt my eyes burn with unsolicited tears. I oohed and aahed /over that precious masterpiece, then I headed /to the kitchen /to hang the simple sketch /with a magnet /on the fridge, because this mama desperately needs to remember what her daughter already knows:

True love bends low to say, You matter.

True love kneels humbly to say, I care.

True love stoops freely to say, I’m here.

True love is willing to become small /to offer the BIGGEST gift of all — the power of presence.

Maybe that’s why I found myself thinking about crowded corners and crayoned pictures /as I unpacked our simple nativity scene

and positioned the baby Jesus figure /in the delicate folds of that painted porcelain manger.

At the heart of this season /filled with grand fanfare and pomp, is a humble Savior //who made Himself small for us /when we needed Him most.

It’s crazy when you think about it — how the biggest love of all shrunk small /on that first Christmas long ago.

The King of Heaven stooped /to earth /so we might know the gift of His presence, the wonder of His with-ness,

the comfort of His company.

And according to a 7-year-old //who once hid behind a bedraggled bureau and the timeless words of our key verse today,

1 John 4:10, that’s how we know () we are loved, truly and lavishly loved.

“This is the embodiment of true love: not that we have loved God first, but that He loved us …”

Dear Lord, Thank You for Your gift of true love. Teach me how to unwrap the joy of Your presence at Christmastime and always. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.