He suddenly stopped in his tracks, then sat quietly
cross-legged on the carpet with his tiny hands in his lap as his
almost-two-year-old big blue eyes looked upward in awe. The sparkling lights
danced in those brilliant eyes. A satisfied, peaceful smile appeared on his
lips, and he continued to sit, unusually hushed, as he took it all in for several
minutes.
I’d wondered when he would notice it—the Christmas tree I’d
put up hours earlier during his nap. He’d been running around playing with a
loud pink popping toy—what do they even call those vacuum-like things?—(a
hand-me-down from his older sister), busy asking for more of his favorite food
(bananas), and excitedly sweeping (his favorite activity).
All of that had kept him occupied for a good amount of time
before he noticed it. I’d thought that his curious nature would have spotted
the tree immediately when I’d carried him down the stairs from his bedroom.
After all, it’s not exactly a small difference compared to the ordinary. I
mean, it’s eight feet tall and three feet wide of green, glittery, flocked, and
lighted magic. I was surprised it didn’t make him jump out of my arms to
immediately go investigate.
But when he did notice it, the peaceful satisfaction was
clear.
I thought about that later that evening during my Sunday
night pity party. My party “celebrates” different things each week. Usually, it
is the absolute overwhelm in anticipation of a new week where I feel like the
entire seven-day checklist needs to be completed Monday morning before 10:00 a.m.
Sometimes I dwell on how poorly I’m doing in seemingly every aspect of my life.
This night? I was wondering why I couldn’t feel God’s love.
Having bipolar disorder and believing in a God who often communicates
with His children through thoughts and feelings makes for an interesting
predicament. Honestly, it’s the worst part of having a mental illness. Here’s
why. It makes it difficult to decipher which thoughts and feelings are from
Him, which ones are from an adversary who doesn’t want me to have a connection
to God, and which ones are from a far-from perfect brain.
I'll keep my faith though, because
that’s where I find meaning to the madness (literal and figurative).
Immersed in my sulking, I thought of my son taking a break
from all of the chaos of being a little person in such a big world to sit next
to the tree. And I noticed some things that can help me when God’s love seems distant.
The tree had been there for hours, but he didn’t notice
until he stopped everything else to focus on that tree. Sometimes in the midst
of all the hustle and bustle, it’s easy to miss the significance of God’s love.
He was still. Sometimes feeling God’s love means being still (I like to replace
that word with trust) and knowing that He is God. I don’t know how else to
describe that peaceful little smile that crossed my little boy’s face other
than “satisfied”. Gratitude gives us a sense of peace and satisfaction and
connection to His love that can’t be achieved any other way.
