Sister of Serendipity

I have to assume there are some likenesses to Heaven and Earth.  I know when we think about Heaven, we think of it as something so much greater than anything we have ever known.

But I wonder if God actually gives us glimpses here and there…little previews to sort of “wet our palate” or offer, well, a Heaven Commercial?  Here’s what I mean:

Today was an ordinary day of “rest resistance” with Addison.  (That’s what I call not wanting to nap.)

“I’m not tired, mommy.” 

“Can we go for a bike ride?” 
“Mommy, can we go to the park?” 

Conflicted and absent objectivity (I know she needs a nap, but what’s the harm?), I stuck with my plan to lie her down before our evening adventures.  Reluctantly, she grabbed her usual suspects (Kitty, bear, bunny) and even managed to grab Scruffy (our cat – he’s real) and quickly secured her bedroom so no one could escape. 

Scruffy, the likely candidate, did manage to flee and now, met with yet another nap deterrent, Addison darted out the door for recapture.  She was successful.  (I found the escaper and the escapee halfway up the stairs, Scruffy awkward in her arms, his legs dangling down and with a look that said, in cat language, ‘she got me’.)  Now securely in place for a second time, we started the nap routine again.

“What book should we read?”  I asked. 

“The Bible,” she answered. 

Handing me her worn and tattered children’s Bible, she asked to read the Parable of the Prodigal Son (not by that name, of course).  Three nap-postponing, but time-well-spent stories later, our reading culminated with Jesus dying on the cross – interestingly her favorite story of all.  Today, however, she heard something different.  I could see it in her sweet and pure blue eyes the moment she understood that it was nails that kept Jesus dangling there.  “Ouch,” she said. 

We closed the book, but only after grabbing the nearby tube of ointment to mark the page.  “Like Ms. Jesse does it, Mommy.”  Bible ‘tube-marked’, I began singing her Lullaby.  Fighting sleep, she launched into her go-to-sleep rituals (caressing Kitty’s ear among my favorites) and began to drift.  As I gingerly rose from the bed in hopes of making a quiet and quick escape, Addison made a last-ditch effort for more time: 

“Mommy, will you rock me?” 

A Heaven Commercial. 

Like a dog digging for a buried bone, I “quickly” removed 4 pillows, a life-size fairy, and 2 other stuffed animals from the rocking chair and nestled in for what I hoped to be a long episode.  And that’s exactly what I got.  Addison, no longer my infant yet craving that same tender security, folded herself comfortably in my arms, head rested on my shoulder.  I rocked.  Slowly.  Consistently.  I allowed my anxious self to settle (after all, nap time is my to-do list time) and drifted off into my own happy place.  Soon memories filled my mind of her not-so-long-ago…baby days…late at night, in my slumber, coming to rescue her from her crib upon hearing her cry.  I lingered there while we rocked.  I smelled her hair. I rubbed her arms. They were no longer pudgy, but lean and reflective of her pre-school days.  We rocked more and I could feel the weight of an almost asleep pre-schooler.  Her fingers still rubbing Kitty’s ear, all was suddenly quiet. 

Where had time gone?  Where is it going?  Wishing to be at the next stage (more “me” time) or the previous stage (gooey, precious baby), I realized I was missing THIS stage.  Addison.  Four.  Fun, witty, smart, daring, happy.  The moment was ours and no one else could claim it.  We rocked.  Slowly she dozed off to sleep in my arms.

After many, many breathtaking moments, I gently got up and placed her in her beautiful bed.  She was angelic.  With Kitty in arms, she barely opened her eyes. 

There it was.  An unplanned, pure, unadulterated connection with Addison that could have only been orchestrated by our loving God.

This one’s Super Bowl-worthy, for sure.