At Papa’s House

                I refer to her as Angel, and she is one of the three blessings I am privileged to call grandchildren.  Twin boys live in Michigan and I am evermore grateful to the pointy heads at Apple who invented Facetime.  As a result, I am able to follow their growth, development, and antics on a weekly and regular basis.  Angel, though, lives close, and I can spend up close and personal time with her.  We talk on the phone and Facetime as well, but nothing compares to her visits.  My old man heart melts when she asks, “Papa Chet, can I come play at your house?”  “You know you can, Angel!  Papa’s always here for you!”

                And so she comes over and we play, sometimes for a few hours, others times for a sleepover.  It is a very tiring but blessed delight to spend time with a three year old.  Her favorite things to play with are her Barbie dolls and Barbie camper, and her Play-Doh set.  The dolls come with a gallon Zip-Loc bag full of “stuff” (her word), and the Play-Doh comes with a quart-sized bag of cookie cutters, funny heads, and other necessities.  She hits the door and most often heads straight for the Barbie camper.  She places it in the middle of the floor, grabs her bag of “stuff” and, standing tall, opens it up and dumps it—all million pieces—beside the camper.  Her next words make me very happy—“Papa, come play with me!”  It’s that invitation that gets me every time, because she wants me down on the floor in the middle of it all with her.  Why ever be a spectator when you can be a participant. 

                I had wondered why she loves to come over so much, and then, in the middle of the floor one day, it became clear:  this is our time, and she has my undivided attention.  I play with her, I interact with her, I role play with her, and it’s all about her.  She doesn’t have to compete with the TV or phone or anyone else for my attention. 

                Our Heavenly Father encourages us to spend quality time in His presence.  He invites us into His house, not church as such, but into the throne room of glory, where it’s just the two of us.  There He encourages us to be ourselves.  He encourages us to empty the bag of “stuff” that makes up our lives.  Just as Angel and I take the “stuff” that she dumped on the floor-- those assorted and mismatched shoes, clothes, and accessories, and make them fit and make sense on the various dolls in the collection—God takes the “stuff” in and of our lives, the various, assorted, and sometimes broken pieces, and helps us make sense of it all.  He wants that from us, and He encourages that from us.  “Come to Me, you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest…”  A grand and glorious invitation to one and all.

                Angel knows that, at my house, she will have my presence and my participation, but she doesn’t realize, yet, that she gets so much more.  She also has my protection, because I watch over her like a hawk.  She is young, naïve, and vulnerable, and not fully aware of the dangers that surround her at all times.  My protection is also a time for instruction—“Watch out for this!” “Don’t touch that!” “Do it this way because it’s safer!”  Passing on things that she needs to know is my obligation, because I love her, she is mine, and has my blood and DNA coursing through her body.  She also has my provision.  “Papa, can I have a snack?”  “You may.  What would you like?”  It might be apples and peanut butter, or a popsicle, or some cookies and milk.  Her needs and protection are my concern.  Our needs and protection are God’s concern.    

                In God’s presence, in the shelter of the Most High, we can be ourselves.  Why shouldn’t we, though?  He created us and already knows everything about us.  So what, then, does He want from us?  He wants our attention to His voice and our participation in His plan.  Whatever else is needed in our lives will be provided…in the shadow of the Almighty