Approach like a child

One of the lectionary readings for this week is Mark 10:2-16. Until I read the Disiplines devotion for this Sunday, I never compared the two groups represented in this passage -- the Pharisees, coming once again to try to trick Jesus, and the children whom he receives. I spoke yesterday about the approachability of God -- how do we approach Him? Are we more like the Pharisees or the children? Verse 15 says, "I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." I was thinking about that on the way to work today, and thought of this illustration:

The schoolyard was blustery – one of those rare fall days when the sky is bluer that it should be allowed to be, and the trees are covered with the splendor of leaves on fire with color. The wind blew, making the air a little bit chilly, to remind those who stood outside the school that winter was on the march, approaching.

A man stood on the sidewalk near his car, watching the door of the school in anticipation. He wore a business suit which had obviously been tailored to fit him perfectly. It was a dark, almost black, blue with a nearly invisible purple thread running through it, creating a very subtle but regular pattern. His shirt was white, starched cotton and the outfit was completed with a very purple, silk tie. The tail of his jacket was slightly wrinkled from all the meetings he had attended during the day. As he watched, he reached up, loosened the tie, and unbuttoned the very top of his shirt in anticipation of the sweatshirt and jeans that were waiting for him at home.

A woman approached him from a couple of cars away. “Chris Adkins? Is that you?” Her voice was smooth with a slight rasp, like olive oil striking a hot skillet.

He looked at her, vaguely thinking that he should know who she was. “Yes. Hello.” As Chris shook her extended hand, he realized that he remembered her from a business meeting he had suffered through a couple of weeks ago. “How are you, Phoebe?”

“Oh, I’m wonderful. It’s great to see you.” She reached out and squeezed his arm, her perfectly manicured nails making dents in his sleeve. “That’s a great suit – I love the fabric.” Getting no response, she let go, she turned her attention to the school. “Another Friday evening pick-up. I tried to talk my ex-husband into doing this, but HE’S too busy.” Chris just smiled with abstraction, making no comment. Phoebe leaned toward him, as if wanting to share secrets. “So, do you know anything else about the Huffman merger? I mean, I know I shouldn’t ask, but….”

He looked at her, perhaps for the first time since she had walked up and stood beside him. Her smile was fixed and her eyes seemed to hide messages that her voice wasn’t pronouncing. “No,” he answered, “I don’t.”

She leaned closer, looking more shark-like than she had before. “Are you sure? Not one little bit that you could share? I’ll keep it to myself, I promise.”

At that moment, he heard, “Daddy!” All of his attention snapped to the little girl running down the sidewalk toward him. Leaving Phoebe standing behind, with an angry look on her face, he took three long strides, dropped to one knee, heedless of the effect the dirt had on his suit, and opened his arms to receive his leaping little girl. Catching her, he held her tight, and enjoyed the flood of her love as she hugged him. “You’ve been gone so long! I’m glad you’re back. I hate buzness trips.”

He kissed her cheek and stood up, carrying her with him. “I’m glad I’m back, too. I’ve missed you.”

She reached out and grabbed his tie. “You wore the purple tie! It’s my favorite. Did you wear it for me?”

“Of course I did. Just for you.” He carried her to the car, deposited her in the back seat, and waited until she buckled her safety belt before carefully closing the door.

Phoebe was forgotten, left standing on the sidewalk as her son approached, barely acknowledging her, throwing his backpack in the car. “Let’s go, Mom. I have things to do.”

Tennis:
10/3 --> G/M : 8 -- Barboursville : 3 (mine, mine, mine, yours, yours, yours) (W)
10/5 --> G/M : 4 -- Fatima : 8 (L)