My son, Sam, who will be six in March, is a mysterious little fellow. I’ve shared how he doesn’t fit the mold — he had to be practically dragged downstairs on Christmas morning, for example. And even though he tries to act all nonchalant about it, if you spend enough time with him, you can tell that his individualism is quite deliberate. He tries to be different. Sometimes he even likes to feign ignorance. He’ll act like he doesn’t know how to read words he’s known forever. Why? I have no idea. He’s an enigma.
This week he got into a bit of trouble at school. He was bawling his eyes out as he attempted to tell me about it that afternoon. Between sobs, he said, “It’s.” Sob. “Too.” Sob. “HARD!”
Finally, he finished sniveling out his story. Then with his face still damp with tears he said, “It’s so humbling.”
I was awed at his big boy word, shocked that he understood the concept. I tried to sort of roll with it, because Sam dislikes undue attention over his not infrequent profundity. But I couldn’t help following up.
“Mmhh, humbling,” I said, “Well, what does that mean?”
Then he looked at me and every ounce of remorse was gone, his red little eyes flashed indignant anger.
“I DON’T KNOW!” he yelled.
See what I mean? Enigma. It’s like his window for weighty conversation is limited to sixty seconds, or something. I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a fear of self-reflection? I’m stumped.
All I know is that I am cuh-ray-zee about him, and I’ll never stop trying to understand him.
And furthermore, I am so grateful that my own enigmatic tendencies, and there are many, are fully understood by my Lord and Savior. He knows about the deepest, ugliest corner of my heart and loves me anyway.
As Paul writes in Ephesians 2:4-5: “But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.”
Ah, His great LOVE. May I cherish it today and always.