Colt is at the age where he can reach new things every day. The door handle that was too far of a stretch yesterday is turning in his little palm today, and that cup we left on the counter, well, now it’s on the floor.
This time, thankfully, it was only a damp washcloth that he grabbed. I carried it out to give the table its final cleaning for the day and just turned my back for an instant to hush the little dog.
Colt already had it that quickly. He had to stand on his toes, but he was wiping the very edge of the table. I scooped him up and let him stand on a chair, and he continued to clean. When he reached a tiny piece of leftover cheese, he carefully picked it up and handed it to me. I applauded. Then, he called for “Da” to come see what a big boy he was.
While Dad hovered by the chair, I went to get the camera. Our littlest guy was doing what he could to help, and I was proud of him. By the time I’d made it to the closet and was unbuckling the camera bag, my smile had faded a bit – not because I was any less pleased with Colt, but because I was embarrassed before God.
How long had it been since I stretched myself all the way to my toes to do something for him? When was the last time I took on a task without first worrying how it would turn out, without wondering how it would measure up to other people’s standards?
Colt didn’t mind the work at all, even though it was difficult for him. He just so badly wants to be like us that he’ll imitate almost anything. And if we smile or clap, he’ll do it over and over and over.
How badly do I want to please God? How badly do I want to mold my life in his ways?
By the time I made it back down the hallway and snapped a few pictures of Colt, my heart was plotting ways to change, ways to reach both farther and further.