Happy To Be Small

Gather 'round. It's time for Five Minute Friday! Lisa Jo Baker gives a one word prompt and hundreds of us write for five minutes on the topic. Then we stop. This week's word is: Small


Small is relative. Completely dependent on perspective.

My days are spent praising my children for being so "big."  They are roughly two and three feet tall and have voices like the elves in your imagination.  They are adorable.  And small.

I’m 5’6” so I’m an average-ish sized girl.  Some would say I’m “small.”   I am able to go into Target and find a shirt that I can’t live without with no problems (except for the fact that I was only supposed to get a birthday card but that’s a whole other issue).

Not in China.

There was no cramming this girl into women’s clothing in China.  The sweet clerks, thrilled to be helping a (giant) foreigner, would search the back room for the largest garment on the premises.  A parachute, a tent, whatever.  Their eager attempts were futile.  The tent never fit.

Head hung in shame (not really), I would carefully turn my broad shoulders around and attempt to daintily maneuver my enormous self among the clothing racks and out of the building.

The men’s section was another story.  Eureka!  I am apparently a large-sized Chinese man.  Whatever though.  I wanted a new sweater so I went for it.  One of my male students had apparently had the same idea so we showed up to class in the same outfit. That was less than super.  I never wore my man attire again.

These days, there are many times in a day I feel my job is small.  It’s not important.  How can it possibly be?  I sweep crumbs, make grocery lists and unload the dishwasher.  I replace batteries in obnoxious toys and fold towels.  Interestingly, my days are also filled with the four tiny hands of my ‘big’ kids reaching on tip toes to this ‘small’ mom needing to be squeezed. Kissed. Comforted.  Apparently I am not a small deal to them.

I admit to being a control freak.

I see you nodding.  That’s rude, just so you know.

This control gives me a false-sense of largeness and leaves the Almighty with an inappropriately small spot.  It’s not that I’m small in importance to Him either.  I’m a big deal to the Lord.  Worth losing a Son over.  For any of you who have lost children- or lost the dream of children- you know the pain is intense.  Searing.  He wouldn’t do that if we were not a big deal.

But when I come to the Lord’s feet and rightly realize my smallness I cannot help but be flooded with a deep, calm peace.  Ah. Yes.  THIS is right.  I’m not small because my thankless job requires that I’m usually covered in liquefied Goldfish cracker goo.  I’m small because my Lord is SO. BIG.