As my oldest grandson begins military college this week, I have been wondering along memory lane. Some of those memories were amazing lessons in my life, such as the one below from all those years ago…
Three year olds don’t have a wealth of experience to draw on, and it’s hard to describe a circus in terms they will understand. So I had talked about the circus for days, trying to build a sense of excitement and anticipation. Finally, my talk about animals, high swings, and things that go fast created an intense excitement in my grandson.

After a long drive, accompanied by talk of lions, horses, elephants, and clowns, we found our way to seats that cost far more than I wanted to pay, and certainly more than my grandson would appreciate. We had an excellent view of the traditional three rings. Even before things got started, there were funny people to watch, and a sense of excitement and anticipation. And, beyond our immediate surroundings, there were the inevitable clowns and final adjustments to wires, props, and lighting accompanied by pre-show music. Every few seconds, Brandon asked, “Where are the animals?” or “Can I go down there?”

And there were vendors. It’s wasn’t enough that we brought a van full of folks and arrived safely to participate in the “greatest show on earth.” “Grandpa, can I have one of those?” or “I want a Coke/popcorn/balloon/sword/horn,” made me wonder if I should have bothered, or if everyone wouldn’t have been happier if I just went to the dime store for a few trinkets. The “I need to go to the bathroom,”
announced to everyone on our side of the arena just moments before the lights began to dim, was almost a welcome respite. It distracted Brandon briefly from the distractions overwhelming us and, in a perverse way, make me actually feel useful and maybe appreciated, as he sought my help in meeting an urgent need.

Back in our seats in a darkened arena, we enjoyed the performance under the spotlight. For a few seconds, anyway. The attention span of a three year old is notable-for it’s absence. And the impatient desire for whatever isn’t there at the moment makes whatever is there unsatisfying. As the trapeze artist demonstrated polished skill, my grandson was begging for the horses. And while the white poodle leaped from horse to galloping horse, the search was on for tigers. Fast, noisy motorcycles produced an urgency for elephants, and, of course, elephants produced a clamor for clowns.

But the trinkets won in the end. Not ours, but everyone else’s. Especially the one being waved around by the little girl right in front of us. Knowing that even a sword/gun/horn/light ray would fail to bring lasting satisfaction, and would actually detract from the main event, I stalwartly refused to buy any gaudy, plastic toys. But the man in front of me succumbed. And then, with world class performers demonstrating carefully honed skills and animal trainers displaying the results of untold patience, from expensive seats designed to focus our attention on the activity under the spotlight just ahead, my grandson, in a complete and unwitting lack of appreciation, was enamored by the sparkle of a cheap toy being flaunted in the row just ahead of us.

As we left the arena, and Grandma planned the next exciting event in our grandson’s life, I attempted to draw out his comments about the big tigers, funny clowns, and daring motorcycles. But his insistent question, the thing that screamed for resolution in his mind, and that made me confident (at least for an hour or so) that I would never, ever do this again, was the plaintive, “But why couldn’t I have one of those lights?”

As I trudged back to the van with growing misgivings about the point of it all, an inner voice that is often crowded out by the clamor around me gently asked, “Are you paying attention yet?”

It was like a revelation. God my Father has lovingly brought me into His plans, at a cost to Himself that is far beyond my comprehension or appreciation. He gives me a ringside seat; no, He puts me right in the action, and delights in showing me His plans and creative wonders. But I get so caught up in what I think He should be doing-so eager that He do it my way and in my time-that I hardly notice what He is really doing. Too often, I only look to God when I have an immediate and urgent need; something I can’t do for myself. How He must delight in those brief acknowledgments that I actually need Him, if only for a short time.

It’s amazing that, whatever God is doing, I want Him to do something else. If He’s teaching me, I want a miracle. As He matures me, I want instant answers to prayer. And when He answers my prayer, I want revival. Maybe I should learn to focus on what He is doing, rather than constantly nag Him to satisfy my desires. Or perhaps I think He isn’t working at all if He’s not doing what I want at any given time.

But I think it’s the trinkets that must frustrate God! How He must long for me to at least try to understand His work and plan. But I get enamored with the little glitzy things that have no lasting value.
More money. A bigger house. A new car. A beach house. Popularity.
Power. Things that I can show to others to prove my experience, even while I ignore the reality of God’s plan and purpose going on all around me. My constant yammering must be a real irritation to Him. God knows these things easily distract me from the main thing.

I wonder if God ever thinks, “I’ll never do anything for him, again.” I’m certainly glad those feelings don’t last.