Playground Parables by Emily Griffin
He who has ears, let him cover them and attempt to rescue his hearing while in one of the most chaotic environments known to man: the playground. The movement. The noise. The frenetic energy that fills every corner of a playground with belly-laughs, tears, shouts of triumph, and adventure-filled war-cries will have caregivers on the brink of emotional collapse within minutes.
Yet, we keep going back. Somehow, the playground provides a platform to showcase the human spirit (with all its strengths, weaknesses, and surprises) that unites both young and old in a heart-warming way.
It was on the playground a few years ago that I learned a lesson in the Lord's care for His children that has stayed with me like a favorite perfume; its scent would drift into my heart and mind from time to time, leaving behind a lingering fragrance of God's faithfulness when the memory fades.
Several years ago, my mother and two older sisters, women on the short-list for sainthood, piled themselves and five children ages six and under into one vehicle to make a six-hour road trip to visit me in the small, Southern town where I lived at the time. So what was awaiting them upon arrival? A two-bedroom apartment at the top of a rusty, rickety set of stairs, mountains of junk food, superhero and princess plasticware purchased at the local Dollar Tree, and one very grateful aunt/sister/daughter who was ready to spoil children rotten in a way that only a fun aunt can.
The first item on the agenda is visiting the playground across the street at my neighborhood's local preschool. Because of the proximity and preschool-sized playground equipment, my niece and nephews thought I owned this particular playground and had it built just for them. The moment we arrived, all the energy that had been building in those tiny bodies for over six hours erupted, and all five kids scattered to the four winds (or corners) of the playground. Noah, my then three-year-old nephew, headed for a set of monkey bars near me, and I followed him to be his spotter.
Of all my nieces and nephews, Noah has always been the most fearless and the most athletic. On this day, rather than gripping the bars with his hands and letting his body hang vertically (you know, the usual way one plays on monkey bars), this little daredevil decided to scale the bars and climb across the top of the set horizontally on his hands and knees. Keep in mind, this was a set of monkey bars made for preschoolers, so it was no more than four and a half feet high. However, to a three-year-old who was just over three feet tall, the air was probably seeming pretty thin on top of those monkey bars in the golden hour of that crisp autumn day. Slowly but surely, Noah began to inch his way across the bars with a tiny smile and a look of concentration forming on his face. I stood right next to him, watching him closely to make sure his adventure didn't come to an abrupt, vertical end. After a moment, I heard Noah begin to whisper something.
At first, I thought he was whispering to me, but when I leaned down slightly to hear what he said, I realized he was whispering to himself.
In a tiny voice almost too quiet to hear, I heard Noah saying, "Emmy is right here. Emmy won't let me fall. Emmy will catch me."
Tears immediately sprang to my eyes at this little one's faith. Looking at it from his perspective, he was practically risking his life to make this journey across the monkey bars, and to do it, he was reassuring himself that someone who loved him and someone bigger than him would be there to catch him if he fell. From my perspective, this "mountain" that Noah was climbing was nothing to me. I could reach out and grab him with one hand if I needed to. If he lost his balance, there was no way I would let him slip through my grasp.
At that moment, I silently asked the Lord to make me more like Noah, trusting in Jesus every moment of my life as wholly and thoroughly as Noah had trusted in me that day. I asked Him to help me remember both perspectives; the one of complete trust in a caregiver and one of love and protection for a cherished child. Our God is infinitely wise, caring, and good. So good that He will use a three-year-old, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy to write a playground parable for a bunch of grown-ups who need to remember that our Heavenly Father is right beside us in this great adventure of life, and He will catch us if we fall. Courage, friends; we are not alone.
Emily Griffin lives in Montgomery, Alabama, and works as Program Director for a non-profit orphan care ministry located in Western Kenya. Being an aunt to seven amazing nieces and nephews is a favorite title these days. As cliche as it sounds, give Emily a book and a cup of coffee, and she'll be happy!
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/emstagraham_griffin/
Ministry: https://www.mescalskids.org/