Because it's almost that, by knowing so little, they know so much.
As I do almost every Sunday afternoon, I went to watch my brother and sister play in their coed soccer game yesterday. One of their teammates has a precious 6-year-old daughter named Courtney, and some of us on the sidelines kind of look out for her while her dad plays if her mom isn't there. Yesterday she was spending a lot of time with my parents and Audrey (the dog), while I huddled on the ground and tried to create my own little self-tunnel to block the wind from making me any colder than I already was.
Not too long into the second half, my parents had to leave the soccer fields, because Audrey had managed to chew through her leash, and she is not the type of dog you can allow that kind of freedom at a wide-open park. (She's the epitome of OOC.) As my mom was leaving, she told me to watch Courtney, and the sweet kiddo sat next to me and started ripping through a patch of clovers on the ground, claiming she kept finding one-leaf clovers (which are actually just three-leaf clovers that had two of their body parts ripped from them by a 6-year-old).
It wasn't long before Courtney and I got up and made the trek across the park to the bathrooms. On the way, she explained in very specific detail what she did at what sounded like a day camp she attended during her Spring Break. My favorite part might have been when she told me that she had to take her lunch in a brown paper sack.
On the way back, Courtney found many more patches of clovers and kept telling me what shapes they were—some were letters, others were shapes, and one was even "a girl pointing." She also picked up two sticks and seemed shocked that a fire didn't start when she rubbed them together. The she asked me if we could go to the playground, but there were only about five minutes left in the game, so I told her she could ask her dad to go after the game. There were various other distractions—including dandelions that she labeled daisies—but she dropped everything she had gathered in her hands and started running toward the field when she saw her dad had the ball.
"Daddy! Go Daddy! That's my daddy!"
She was so proud and excited that nothing else mattered to her in that moment. Nothing at all.
When the game ended, Courtney didn't forget about asking her dad to go to the playground: "Dad, can me and her go play at the park?!"
That's not exactly how I thought that one would play out, but the next thing I knew we were walking back toward the playground, as my sister laughed at me for my diversion blowing up in my face. Courtney immediately went to the monkey bars (which were actually more like monkey rings) and became determined to make it across the entire way, but she took it one step at a time. First, she only went to the third one. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. There were nine total, and she told me her plan to go one more each time until she made it to the end.
She took little breaks after each feat, and a few times she would almost start and then hesitate and have to restart. The first time this happened, I said something about her readjusting to get a better grip, and she took a liking to the word "readjusting." From then on, I think she did a restart each time just so she could use that word. Each attempt, she had me stand at the ring that was her goal, and she trusted I was at the right one and didn't even bother counting for herself.
Courtney only had one attempt where she didn't make it to where she was supposed to, but she didn't even seem phased by it. She simply dropped to the ground, climbed the stairs again and gave it another try—and succeeded. Her innocent perseverance eventually led to her completing the entire row just as her dad was walking up to take her home. Perfect timing.
Sweet little Courtney taught me a lot yesterday, like the importance of ridding of distractions. We get so caught up in the various things going on in and around our lives, but we don't always do like Courtney did and drop everything to run to our Father. She also taught me the importance of forgetfulness: not remembering that we failed or letting failure be a determining factor in our future attempts. You simply have to go back up the stairs and take on those monkey rings one more time. And she reminded me of the importance of childlike faith through imagination. Yes, we should live in reality, but we also shouldn't be afraid to dream of possibilities that others might not see the way we do. Just because others don't believe or have hope for the same things as you doesn't mean they are impossible.
Maybe that patch of clovers really is a duck waving hello. You just never know.
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