Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it. ~Mark 10:15 (New International Version)
…backstage at a recital means mass confusion. Triple the mess, fuss, and chaos when a show is filled with thirty-six people with an average age of nine. Teens in tutus. Joy-filled junior high girls happy to pile on heavy makeup and eyelashes wide like bat wings. Boys in corners chanting out dance steps to themselves.
I was in the middle of it all. Sweating. Trying to keep makeup off my praise dance costume. Checking the dance list two and three and four times out of nervousness for my own routine. Then, finally, forgetting myself and moving toward little bodies. Do you need help? Can you find your jazz shoes? Where is your clothes bin?
I felt a pat on my thigh. A little one. I turned around and glanced into a moon-eyed brown face. Gorgeous braids. Tiny pink lips.
You can help. She said.
I nodded.
Am I dancing next?
I checked the list and told her no.
I’m in hip-hop. You can help me. I lost my costume.
I gritted my teeth. Sweated. Sighed. Swallowed and finally smiled in her face. I didn’t have any idea where her tiny costume was, but because she trusted me, I would rip the backstage area apart until I found it.
She led me into a corner with four lemon-yellow leotards, a pink glitter and zebra stripe pantsuit and black Chucks jumbled on the floor. I held her hand and whispered encouragement words. Stand right here beside me. I’ll get your costume. We have plenty of time before your last routine. Don’t you worry, sweetie. I’ll get you dressed fast.
She smiled back at me. Hummed a tune. Clutched my fingers and waited. I sifted through the wardrobe rack. The floor. The clear bins with names on them. No costume. I panicked and stress-sweated, then looked in her face. She told me her name and smiled once more. I went back to ransacking the wardrobe racks. She trusted me and I was on a mission to find a preschool hip-hop dance routine outfit.
I wish I could say I found it. I didn’t. But I kept the sweetie-pie by my side and one of the more practiced dance parent’s found the outfit and we pulled the preschooler in the glitter-drenched stretchy pants and halter fifteen minutes before she was due to be on stage.
And this post isn’t really about costumes, dance, or little kids.
It’s about that warm tiny, hand. Those wide innocent eyes. That sweet little patient tune.
A child who simply trusted.
We live in a sin-sick world full of complications. We want to fix things and be everything to everyone. But all our Father really wants is for us to face Him, trust Him to help, and be relaxed and confident that the outcome is in His hands.
Faith with the heart of a child. Eyes wide. Trusting. Innocent.
Faith.