Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.
The bane of mothers everywhere.
Our local grocery store gives helium balloons to the kids. So do the math and you can imagine the population of plastic popware that comes home with me at the conclusion of a shopping trip.
The joy lasts for a few minutes, and then I hear it.
The wail that means that someone has accidentally released their grocery store prize and it is now residing along the crown molding of the great room ceiling.
Conveniently twenty-plus feet up.
Far from the reach of any extension rod that might be put to use to try to grab it.
And within a couple of days, the balloon begins to deflate and gets wrapped in the ceiling fan.
There's a yellow balloon trapped around the blades of the ceiling fan as I type.
8 of 8 received a shiny red balloon this week. We tied extra string to it so that if it were released we might have a chance of retrieving it. But somewhere along the way, the string was pulled off of the balloon.
And then the inevitable happened.
The balloon floated out of reach.
Right into the confines of the foyer chandelier. Approximately seventeen feet in the air.
8 of 8 quickly came to let me know of this turn of events. He pulled me by the hand into the foyer and began enthusiastically gesturing to the red helium globe now inhabiting the light fixture. He made a couple of jumps for it. And then he encouraged me to make a jump for it. I complied, showing him that the balloon was just too far out of reach.
But I did appreciate that he assumed I could out-jump Michael Jordan.
After a few more jumping attempts on his part and after I assured him again that I would not be able to make a leap for it, he studied the problem for a bit.
And ran quickly from the foyer.
To his nursery.
Where he grabbed his bed pillow.
And returned to the foyer.
He placed his little pillow on the floor, centered under the chandelier, checking his position. When all was appropriately adjusted, he stepped gingerly onto the pillow. And then he looked up to see if he could now reach the balloon.
Sweet boy. Standing on his little pillow, reaching for a balloon seventeen feet in the air.
I do it too.
When there are circumstances, challenges, dreams that get tangled in the chandeliers of my life, I'm more likely to try to reach them myself. I begin by thinking I can jump those heights if I just work harder, work faster, work longer. When those attempts don't work, I grab something to try to prop myself up. Sometimes that pillow can be an old habit. Sometimes it can be a familiar path.
But none of it brings me closer.
Because there are those things that are simply beyond my reach.
But not His.
The Lord sees me standing there in the entry to a new season. He knows the limits of my reach.
And He waits. Waits for me to realize I can't jump that high. Not without Him.
So I learn again. Learn to not necessarily reach for the dream but to reach for His will.
His perfect will.
And when I reach simply for Him, He is always within my grasp.