The Whole World in His Hands…

Outside my window there was a group of children playing football.  There was one very tall boy, one very tall girl, a half dozen mid-size kids, and three or four pint-sized munchkins.  They had organized themselves: the two tall kids were captains and quarterbacks, the little kids were running backs and receivers, and rest were lineman and defensive backs. 

Their game was compelling.  I stopped my work to watch.  The tall-boy team was moving the ball down the field in a series of runs, picking up yardage.  Then a fumble.  Ever seen twelve children pounce on one spot?  It looked like a pack of hungry dogs who had found a bone.  One of the tall-girl team-members was at the bottom of the pile, curled up around the ball.  A turnover. 

The first play of the tall-girl team was a handoff.  A speedy girl with long black hair took off.  She made the corner and was running toward the goal.  Her teammates were running after her and the tall-boy team was in hot pursuit.  Through my window I could hear laughter and shouts as they chased the black-haired blur.  She crossed some imaginary goal line and spiked the ball. Touchdown for the tall-girl team. 

I wanted to get up, leave my desk, and get in the game, but I had a deadline to meet.  People were waiting on me.  But clearly those children were having much more fun than I was having.  There was joy in their game, laughter in their running. 

Before I returned to my computer and the ever-blinking cursor, I thought about all the things those kids were not worried about: the election, COVID19, violence, the economy, and a thousand other things that filled my thoughts.  If those children knew about those things, they did not worry about them.  My hunch was they left the weightier matters to their parents.  They were being who they were made to be: children. 

I know not every child has an idyllic childhood.  But even children in horrific environments know how to play.  It seems to be hardwired into our souls.  Our souls long to laugh and run, to feel the joy of deliciously wasted energy.   

I can’t remember the last time I ran just for the fun of it.  Come to think about it, I can’t remember the last time I ran.  It seems like most of my day is about getting things done.  Even my Sabbaths can feel hurried: “I have to hurry up and rest so I can get back to work.”  I don’t think that is what God had in mind when he said, “Six days you shall labor and the seventh you shall rest.”  Though lots of energy was being expended by the kids outside my window, I felt sure those children were Sabbathing better than I do. 

Jesus once said, “Unless you become like a little child, you cannot enter the Kingdom of heaven.”  Among other things, I think Jesus meant to really live the life God wants you to live, you have to leave things in His hands.  Sure, we care about elections and COVID, justice and the economy, but ultimate solutions are in God’s hands. Jesus’ invitation to us is to be children, loved by our Heavenly Father. 

An older, wiser follower of Jesus once told me I needed to pray until I no longer felt anxious.  That would mean I truly had left the matter in God’s hands.  God’s hands are wide enough to hold whatever you place there and strong enough to work in ways you cannot understand.   

The Apostle Paul wrote, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”  Anxiety is always a prayer-cue.  When you present your requests to God, and leave them with him, a peace you cannot understand guards your soul, even if your prayer is not answered in the way you wish.  Our God is the adult in the relationship.  He’s got you.  He’s got me.  As the old song goes, “He’s got the whole world in His hands.”