She sat on top of the hill on the trunk of three splitting trees—the best
place to survey the kingdom of Playground.
“Ms. Miller!” Ava called out, “I’m pretending to be God’s wife!”
God’s wife: a short female tyrant sitting on a tree trunk and wearing a
plaid uniform jumper. How fitting. This was the girl who trumped her classmates’
ideas for playtime with her bossy imagination, who took off her jumper during
class to get attention, and who quoted mom-talk to her friend: “I said no. That
means no.” What Ava said, she wanted done, and what she did, she wanted
everyone to see. Her imagination reflected her heart well.
The situation presented a conversation about control that I had
anticipated. When I told her God did not have a wife though, she merely giggled.
She said she knew God did not have a wife—she was only pretending. Still, I hoped that the conversation would penetrate her
little soul and sow seeds of humility. Most of all, I hoped that she would see
the silly character she was practicing to become. She could not be God’s wife,
she could not live a life of control.
Ava changed the importance of that seat: it was now a place of power,
control, and Kindergarten admiration. At recess, the first girl to sit on “the
throne” was queen. She was surrounded by stoic soldiers, guarded captives, ladies
in waiting, and dancing courtiers who played below the throne hoping for the
queen’s attention.
On the second day, I heard shrieks and cries coming from the tree. Two winded
wide-eyed girls ran up, eager to justly settle the terrible fracas between
their two friends: “She won’t give it to her….but she was there first…and now
she won’t give it to her!” I could hear the screams and cries: the queen was
unwilling to share her throne. The lust for power mounted into a squabble of
cries and tears and pushing and shoving: the overflow of the heart was ugly.
Now there was not just one Kindergartener with a grabby heart, but two. Their
tears were for themselves, not for their friend. A tree had become more
important than a friendship, and both girls desperately needed to look away
from themselves. Both needed to look to the only tree that ever mattered, and to
the man who hung on that tree to make enemies His friends. They needed to see
their helplessness and their need for Him.
But it was not until later that I saw what I needed to learn from Ava’s imagination.
That is when the whole situation shocked me: this child showed me myself. Here I
was, given a job I always thought was out of reach, and I certainly did not get
it because of any fancy accomplishments on my part, and yet I wanted to move on.
I snapped my fingers: “That was all nice, God, but I want something else,
something more. Please prepare the way for me as I chose what I will do next.” I
surveyed my kingdom and ordered my subjects around - like Ava, I was pretending
to be God’s wife.
When stripped of excuses and performed in the role-playing of a child, my
sin was ugly and ridiculous. A Kindergartener sitting on a tree trunk may be
cute, but a woman in her twenties who pretends to be God’s wife is anything but
adorable. My plans and prayers were frustrated as I threw a tantrum at the
gates of heaven. I could not hear my Father’s instructions, nor did I want to
hear Him. How could I when my hands were beating against His will? So He showed
me myself in the play of a little child. This little child, this student, was
the lesson plan.
I would never have said I was pretending to be God’s wife, that I wanted
my way and would pout if I did not get it. She, on the other hand, was
unashamed of her imaginative play. She was not afraid to admit what she was
pretending, so He wrote the truth I denied into her script. I wanted to be the
teacher, the one in control, but God knew better: “This time your teachers are
your students. See yourself in their little hands and little faces. Learn it
again: you are the child.”
Life is God’s sacred lesson plan in which each person and event is a
deeper revelation of His unending mercy. We are students in a world written
with the energy of a passionate and playful teacher. We are buffered by His
love–learning, tasting, seeing it all around us. His mercy and our neediness is
the resounding lesson. Praise God He mounted the tree and took our sinful
selves to the cross. We are the ones who falter and need our Father’s love. We
are always children, and we ought not even dare to sit upon the throne until He
remakes our grabby hearts.
