The Cup

My son and I celebrate Fun Fridays. He's off from school, I'm off from work. Today, the sun is shining. He was watching his favorite show, Curious George, and I was sitting out on my back deck, listening to the birds, reading, sipping tea, praying, just generally enjoying the fact that, yet again, we will be having  spectacularly glorious weather for Fun Friday.

And then I heard a knock on the window behind my head.  As I turn around I see my son's face pressed up against the window. "Mom, can I have some ice water?"

Now, I'm not saying it's hereditary from his father or anything, (awkward clearing of throat) but the child is less than observant of his surroundings. 9 times out of 10 he will ask me for something without even looking for it.  Possibly I have played into this habit by miraculously always knowing where things are. (What is that? My mom was the same way and I always thought she had superpowers. Possibly some weird gene switches on when you hold your baby for the first time that enables you to remember where anything and everything that child could ever possibly want or need is hiding in your home.) 

But there it was. The question. That I get asked just about every morning. And just about every morning I have already poured this child a cup of ice water that is sitting nicely on a coaster roughly 12 inches from his nose.  He is sitting there when I place it in front of him. And he takes the time to walk out of the room, down the stairs and find me to ask me for it before looking those 12 inches to see if it's there. Like it almost always is.

I do say "almost always" because I'm definitely not perfect. I sometimes forget.  But I'm regular enough that this child should at least CHECK before coming to look for me, right?

So, as his little face was pressed up to the window very politely asking me for what he had already been given, I was very struck by a God moment.  And wondered if sometimes God feels like I'm banging on the glass with my nose pressed up, too distracted to see what's actually within the range of my vision, to already see what I've been given. To already see that a prayer has been answered, a cup of water provided.

So, after I gently told my sweet boy that his water was already on the table where it usually is and he smiled, said thanks and went back upstairs, I just sat for a few minutes.  And asked God to help me see the places where he has already answered me.  The places where I am expecting to have to ask again, but he has already put my water on the table. I am so used to asking so many questions that it can be a real act of discipline to just listen.  But this is what Lent has been all about for me anyway, so why should I be surprised that here, again, was a gentle reminder to stop striving, stop asking, stop demanding. And just be.

So, I'm sipping the water that's in front of me this morning. I'm thankful for the ways that He has sustained me through so much asking during the past few years. The ways that he has invigorated my marriage through our struggle with infertility, the ways he has bonded me to my child because of the ways we've had to wait together for a common desire, the provision of incredible network of old and new friends around me who are overwhelmingly supportive of our adoption and committed to reminding me of the truth when the nursery feels so empty. Thankful, most of all, that while I was still far off, God rescued me.  That in this last week before Easter I can be reminded of my God, one who made the ultimate sacrifice to give me a cup overflowing with living water so that I would never be thirsty again. 

That cup is always right in front of me.