What matters most.

I’m a babysitter by profession.  Also, a nanny.

 And the funny thing is that I have done this since I was 11.  I might have even done a little babysitting alongside my sister when I was 10.  I watched children alone while their parents went out when I was 11 years old.

What kind of person trusts their most precious child to an 11-year-old?  I can’t think of any 11 year olds who merit that.  And I don’t think I was really an exceptional 11-year-old.  Anyways, I’m always amazed that people gave me their babies to feed, diaper, and put to bed at such a young age.  Even 12.

Granted, I’m glad they did, because if they didn’t, then I would have absolutely no income.  Thank you, kind people, for trusting me with your children.  I love my job, and I appreciate the paychecks.  I’ll use them well and hire nice girls to watch my kids when I grow up.

I wonder if it was hard for them to trust me with what probably mattered most to them.  I wonder if it would have been easier if I was a 30-year-old super nanny with a bag full of helpful gadgets, a shiny name tag, and a plethora of references and degrees.  If I had a perfectly charming manner and was able to assuage all their fears with a list of phone numbers for doctors, nurses, dentists, second cousins, and Pizza Hut.

I wonder if it would have been easier for them to trust me with something that mattered less to them.  Like their plants.  Water the plants while we’re gone.  Oh, they’re dead?  No big deal.

It’s so easy for me to trust people with things I don’t care about.  I can trust the untrustworthy with the details of what I ate for lunch because it doesn’t matter if they tell someone.  I can trust the boys in my class who never return pencils with the mechanical pencils where the lead always breaks because they aren’t my special ones that make my handwriting better.

I can trust Jesus with relationships and circumstances that aren’t near to my heart because they’re much easier to surrender.

But the difficulties, the uncertainties, the pain?  The things that I want to hold onto because they matter so much, yet I can’t do anything with them?  Can I open up my fists and surrender those too?  Because the certainly aren’t going anywhere in my clenched fists.  There are no solutions in my hands, in my heart.  I can grip them as tightly as I want to, try to protect them from harm, but without giving them to the One who creates and sustains life, I will not experience anything different than I have known.  No pain will subside, no grief will leave me, no solutions will pop into my head.

It’s absolutely logical to give problems to someone who can handle them, but it is totally against my tendencies to give the people and situations that matter the most to me to the One who holds the whole world in his hands.  All I have in my hands are my problems and fears.

This is the part where I open up my fists.

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2 thoughts on “What matters most.

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