Candle Snuffers, Three Year Old Boys, and Isaiah

. . . with a little child to guide them . . . -Isaiah 11:6

We had a full day planned. Fuller than full. Too many things to do, too many dreams for the day (I wanted to visit the beach, but had to scratch that dream off the list), too many must-dos. I didn’t know if we could get it all done (spoiler: we didn’t).

While at my small group, Small Fry ask so sweetly if we could go to daily Mass, to help Miss Katie light the altar candles. He lights up with joy when he can help. Of all our children, he’s the easiest to take to extra Masses and Adoration, the most willing to be there, the only one so far to ask to go.

So when he asked me if we could go to Mass, I felt a crazy mix of conflicting things: joy that my small child wanted to be at Mass, dread that our day was going to derail, overwhelm at adding one more thing to the already too busy day, guilt that I wanted to say “no”, ridiculous that I made a deal with my son: we could go to Mass if he promised to behave through the grocery trip (which wasn’t even first–so it made no sense).

As small group ended, we walked over to the small chapel for Mass. As usual, Small Fry had lots of questions about the holy water, wanted to use the tank of water instead of the small bowl, and found a book to mangle. As it turns out, Miss K was a bit delayed joining us, so someone else lit the candles. Thank the Lord Small Fry didn’t have a meltdown. The candles were what got us there. Miss Katie did promise him that he could help snuff them at the end, and truthfully I think he likes that part the best. What little kid doesn’t enjoy the chance to use the snuffer?

We settled in, and I tried to settle my mind along with my body. There were so, so many things to do that afternoon. And the next day, and the next . . .  Lord, we’re here. This is for You. Help me see which things are most important for the rest of the day and which can be let go. I didn’t (don’t) feel like there’s time for this pause in the day, but You’re in charge. Make it happen.

(It’s become a new prayer habit for lately, handing the reigns back to God. Passing the buck, so to speak. Often with a bit of sass, to be honest, calling Him out as the Master, the Guy with the Plan, and the One Who Needs to Figure This Ish Out For Me Because You Put Me in This Life on This Path with These Kids etc etc etc. If God can’t handle that, than neither can I and all is a waste.)

The first reading that day was from Isaiah, and the words rang so clearly in my ears. “. . . with a little child to guide them . . .”

Obviously.

My three year sitting on my lap certainly isn’t the little child that the prophet Isaiah was referring to (because of course that was Jesus), and yet God had me just where He wanted me, and it was because my little child brought me there.

Well played, King of Kings, well played.

Father also said something poignant during his homily, which I fully intended to remember and share as well, but since LIFE continues to overwhelm every moment and it takes me days and days to finish a complete thought, all that’s left etched into my soul now are the words from Isaiah and the sweet, soul-nourishing pause to that day.

You know this child is my 6th kid, right? My “woah, we certainly weren’t planning for, expecting, or even hoping for THAT plan, God…” child. My cuter than cute threenager. My “totes adorbs” son who refuses baths and tries to negotiate with us every day, “I’ll take one tah-marrow.”

A little child.

No wonder God is always calling us back to being child-like. It’s nearly the only way He gets through to us.