All week I’ve been wrestling with the encouragement to become like a child… to think like a child… that there’s something about being childlike that’s actually good!
I struggle with that sometimes… holding on too tightly, perhaps, to all the knowledge and experience — like it or not — that accompanies us into adulthood… believing that’s all so beneficial and so much more vital than being a kid. And then a tiny moment reminds me that adulthood often serves as more of a distraction than any perch of wisdom…
Last weekend I had opportunity to get away for the weekend for some fun and reflection. While away, my spouse took two of my sons bowling. While bowling is not a frequent activity for our household, when it occurs, it is typically met with ample enthusiasm. It also can become quite competitive, as we tend to enjoy the competitive process (insert subtle “tee hee” here).
My hub was pleased; he still has it after all these years. My seventeen year old was also pleased; he enjoys his share of athletic success. And then there was my son, Josh.
As has been referenced here on multiple occasions, Josh is a thriving, articulate teenage boy. He does all those things fourteen year olds typically tend to do… talk, text, try to sneak a few things by the ‘rents, if you know what I mean. Josh also has Down syndrome.
One of the beautiful things about Josh’s so-called “special need” is that it seems to maintain that childhood status to some degree… acting like a child… thinking like a child. But it’s made me ask, “What does ‘childlike’ mean?”
I wish I had an easy answer. For a while, I camped on the concept of equating being like a child to something simpler — simpler thinking, something not as complex as us ever-knowledgeable and experienced adults. But that doesn’t totally make sense to me.
Then I wrestled with the idea of a “childlike faith” and all the accompanying misapplications… maybe not needing all the things we seemingly intelligent adults need to prove that we’re right… “No, we won’t believe… we won’t believe in something until they can prove it to us! We will not be fooled! Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, well…” Something about that doesn’t seem quite right either.
A wise friend then summed it up for me in eight words… eight words. To become like a child means to ask oneself: “what if I could lay aside my fear?”
… my fear of being wrong… my fear of not being perfect… my fear of failure… my fear of not looking good… my fear of needing someone or something more… my fear…
What if I could lay aside my fear?
What would I do? What would I think? How would I change? How would I grow? How would I relate to other people? How would I articulate opinion? Again, yes… how would I grow?
When I returned home for the weekend, Josh was sitting on the outside porch, eagerly awaiting my return. (Let me offer a quick, brief tangent: there’s something beautifully special about having your own enthusiastic welcoming committee each time you return home.)
But after a few, semi-subtle bear hugs and joyful jumps of unparalleled glee, Josh said, “Mom, Mom, guess what? Guess what?! You’re never going to believe this!!”
Note that my spouse had warned me that Josh might be a little discouraged after the bowling outing. They bowled two games without the bumpers. Josh scored a 40 and a 22. That’s averaging a mere four and a little more than two pins per frame. Hence, by all intellectual accounts, Josh bowled pretty poorly.
But Josh says, “I did it, Mom! I did it! I got my first strike without the bumpers!!”
The kid was overjoyed. Embedded in his ten-frame score of 22, there was a single strike — a strike both preceded and succeeded by gutter after gutter ball. Instead of being emotionally pierced by any ball in the gutter, Josh only saw what was best. He was not deterred nor distracted by any knowledge or experience…
“I got my first strike!”
May we aim for that childlike faith… may we never miss the beauty of the barren strike. May we know that it is good.
Respectfully…
AR