Don’t Say Wow

christmasI was in what my husband not-so-affectionately refers to as “the zone.” The cleaning “zone”, to be exact. I’m sure you are well acquainted with how it is when you only have a couple hours to get as much of the house clean as you possibly can and are absolutely determined to actually get to the bathroom floors this time. You know, since several weeks of nothing more than a quick Swiffer job here and there have left you wondering what unseemly creatures a swab test might reveal.

Amazing housekeepers like ourselves should never have to fear a swab test. Never. Ha!

So, the cleaning frenzy was in full force. My beloved cleaning products were ready to go (anyone else out there have a strange affection for cleaning products?), my “bleach clothes” were on, my favorite Pandora station was playing, and my determination to evict whatever non-humans had taken up residence in the tiny little crevices of my bathroom was at an all-time high.

Oh, and did I mention that my three-year-old was home? Sort of kills the mood, doesn’t it?

He was home, and he was bored. I was already feeling guilty for letting him watch too much TV that morning, so I had turned it off. Turning off the TV makes me feel like a really good mom. It also makes me feel like pulling my hair out, especially when I’m in “the zone.” That day I chose to lose some hair and I like to believe it significantly improved my son’s chances of getting into a really good college and making a positive difference in the world.  Two more episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse surely would have ruined him forever. But I digress . . .

After several failed attempts at getting me to play trucks, Shep found a balloon and started hitting it around the house. When you only have one child, a toy or activity that truly captivates their attention and DOESN’T require your involvement is a rare find. The balloon did just that  . . . for about 10 minutes. Then, he decided he wanted to show off his amazing balloon hitting skills. He came into the room I was cleaning and said, “Mommy, look!” Then, he hit the balloon. My response: a half-hearted, “Wow buddy, that’s great.”

Again, “Mommy, look!” And again, “Wow, that’s really neat. You’re good at hitting that.”

Several more times . . . “Mommy, look!”

Each time, my response was the same half-hearted “wow.”   After the second or third hit, I said it without even looking at him or his balloon. I was in “the zone,” remember? I didn’t have time for such things.

Then, it happened. That moment when your child says something so simple, yet so profound . . . mere words that shoot like little daggers straight into the depths of your soul and cut right through your upside-down priorities and selfish intentions. Words that make you pause, put down the spray bottle, hug your little boy, and marvel at how a three year old with a balloon can reveal so much about your own heart.

After several, “Mommy, look!” comments, followed by my half-hearted, distracted “wow” responses, Shep walked up to me, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Mommy, don’t say wow.”

What?! Don’t say wow?

At first, I was a little puzzled. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with saying “wow.” In fact, it is generally a welcomed response. How did my son not know this?

Then it hit me. It’s not that he didn’t want my “wow.” He just didn’t want my fake “wow.” He wanted me to stop what I was doing, look at him, and genuinely delight in his balloon hitting skills. He didn’t want my half-hearted affirmation. He wanted my whole-hearted attention.

In that moment, with a Swiffer duster in one hand and a can of Pledge in the other, I thought of how many times I do the same thing to God. While I know full well that God is nothing like my three year old, I have to admit that He often comes to me with the same message: Don’t say wow.

Don’t just go through the motions. Don’t merely pretend to care. Don’t fake affection.

Don’t settle for “devotions” that are void of any true devotion or praise that is empty of any real passion.

In Isaiah 29:13, God says: “These people come near to me with their mouth and honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. Their worship of me is made up only of rules taught by men.”

In other words, they said “wow,” but they felt no wonder.  They were all duty with no delight.

I don’t want to be like that. Especially not now. Not at Christmas. Not when I’m celebrating the marvelous, miraculous incarnation of my Savior, without which I would be utterly lost in my sins and destined for an eternity in hell. If there’s ever a time to say “wow” and really mean it, it’s now!

As we rush through all the last minute preparations for Christmas, let’s make sure we don’t rush past the Person of Christmas.

Stop. Breathe. Read. Pray. Marinate.

As you do, hear the Lord’s sweet whisper . . .

Don’t [just]  say wow.

 

 

 

 

 

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