My mackerdoodle has been going through a maturity growth spurt lately. I look at her and wonder where I misplaced my baby girl.
She plays pretend quite a lot and it is so much fun to watch where her mind goes. Often the pretend imitates life, but just as often it reveals a lot about what she WISHES was real life. For instance, on Friday we hosted the free bread pick up (click here to read about why I won’t be baking bread for four years) and the mackerdoodle spent all Saturday opening doors and saying to the empty other side, “Hello. You here for bread? You’re bag is not big enough.” This is exactly what I had been telling everyone who came to pick up bread. On the other hand, the day before, she brought me an instruction sheet that had fallen out of a box. She told me, very insistently, “This paper say, ‘Take a train to Nana and Papa’s.’ ”
But her favorite pretend is to pretend that she and I are different people with different names. Every morning she comes up to me and says, “I Isabella . . . ” (or Ariel, or Emily) ” . . . and you Grogga.” (Or Froga, or Mugga) Then she puts out her hand and shakes mine enthusiastically, saying, “Nice to meet you Grogga,” and I respond with “Nice to meet you Isabella.” Last week I asked her why she got a beautiful name while I got a troll name. She just twinkle her eyes and flashed her little dimple and said, “Okay Froga, I goin’ shoppin’. You need somefin’?” I asked her to pick up some coffee. What else could I do?
The amazing, and humbling, thing about watching her develop from a baby into a little girl (pardon me, a BIG girl), are the deep questions that come out of her. One day in the van she asked me why children take toys from each other. That lead to a discussion about sin, and how everyone’s heart is broken with sin. I asked her who was the only one who could fix our sinful hearts, and she answered, “Jesus. But how he fix our hearts, Mama? With, like, tools?” (She’s added “like” to her vocabulary. I must say it more than I think I do.) I answered that Jesus fixes our hearts with his blood, and we talked about what that meant. She listened intently and then said, “But Jesus is not dead. He’s alive. He’s the forever King of the world.” So we chatted about the resurrection, and that Jesus is alive, because he wasn’t sinful. I tried to explain “intercedes on our behalf before the Father,” but knew that may have been pushing it. Then there was a pause and she said, “Mama?” “Yes baby girl,” I answered. “I see a blue truck.” She’s not even three, after all.
She’s an amazing little thing, and I am in awe of a kind and merciful God who would entrust her to me. I have a feeling one day I’ll feel the need to put out my hand and say, “Nice to meet you mackerdoodle.” I pray she’ll still twinkle her eyes and flash her dimple and maybe we’ll go get coffee.