Childlike splinters

{ Background music }

For those living in particular areas of the country, the changing of the seasons brings forth a change in wardrobe and recreation. For many, the seasons of spring and summer present a lovely opportunity to step outside and take in all that the warmer weather carries in its bountiful basket. Pants are replaced with shorts. Sweatshirts are replaced tank tops. Boots are replaced with flip flops.

My children are older now, but the memories of traveling to the nearby playground when they were little are colorfully vivid. In our home town, the most popular playground, without contest, is one located just off the main road that dissects the town into two fairly equal halves. The playground features a large wood structure with ramps and hanging bars and swings and slides. In this space, it's easy for the untainted spirit of a child to transform the equipment into a giant pirate ship and brave the storms, or race around the structure like an Olympic obstacle course, or challenge each other to a game of ultimate hide-and-go-seek. It's all enjoyable...

until someone gets a splinter.

The drawbacks of a wooden structure, I guess. It's inevitable.

So here's where I admit that removing splinters brings me great joy. I'm not sure there's anything that comes close, as a parent, to being able to remedy an otherwise painful ailment for my children without the risk of spoiling a life lesson. While carefully walking the tightrope of allowing our children to learn from difficult life experiences without constantly trying to shield them from pain is a skill I believe we should practice daily, splinters are something entirely different. There is no purpose for them to sit and fester (apart from a useful metaphor, perhaps).

Removing the splinter resolves the issue. Done. Taken care of.

It doesn't matter the number of times one of my children has had a splinter removed, the reaction tends to be the same. The child gives me their hand and points to the location of the splinter. I pick up the tweezers and move towards it, ready to conquer and save the day. Then, in anticipation of the pain that's to come, the child pulls their hand back in objection. For a moment, the pain is not worth removing the splinter. I have, on several occasions, had a child try and convince me it would be better just to leave it in.

If only they knew.

I had a splinter once that did not get removed. It was painful at first and then, eventually, the pain subsided. I thought it was gone. Perhaps it remedied itself. Perhaps it somehow disintegrated into my skin (my belief in the complexity and power of the human body backs up this argument quite justifiably). Whatever the case, I was relieved. It appeared to be gone. Then, one day, I realized that the skin around the splinter was sensitive to the touch. When I examined the area, I noticed it was red and slightly swollen.

It was festering. And my body was doing what it was created to do....

Get. It. Out.

It didn't belong, and my body knew that. The festering process is not pretty and it is definitely not void of pain. If only I could go back and have the splinter removed before the area around it got infected.

So where am I going with all of this?

I believe that there are times when God is wanting to tend to something....to remove a splinter in our lives (a pruning process, of sorts)...and, not unlike a hesitant (albeit naive) child, we pull back in anticipation of the pain. Perhaps we even begin by offering it to God, but as we get closer to Him actually dealing with it, the reality hits us and the benefits do not seem to outweigh the consequences. Not worth the risk. Leave it.

It'll take care of itself.

Pruning is a tough thing. We typically respond in three ways when confronted with it; (1) participate in the pruning process and allow God to remove what is not serving us, (2) tell God that it really isn't that big of a deal and that we are fine ("It's OK...really."), or (3) completely avoid the situation altogether (I know a little bit about denial. He was my roommate for many years.). The avoidance is usually associated with a temporary pain or tension that we cannot justify. 

We cannot see the fruition.

The concept of biblical pruning is a beautiful metaphor, with the principal being that the branches bearing fruit will become "even more fruitful" once the fruit-less branches (ie: sin) are pruned back (John 15:2). I experienced this first-hand, when I was given the responsibility, along with the proper training, to prune my mother's rose bushes. There is a precise process. And when done right, the fruit (flowers) are glorious! And while we aren't talking about literal fruit, spiritual fruit is even more gloriously delicious. Who doesn't want to be more loving, more joyful, more peaceful, more patient, more kind, more good, more faithful, more gentle, and have more self-control? (If you don't, well...I might just be wasting your time.)

I'm a processor. Perhaps you're not (if not, feel free to skip the next couple of paragraphs).

I've always been slightly hesitant to answer too quickly. It's what makes casual social gatherings quite challenging for me. I'm not sure when this started or whether it's always been a part of my genetic make-up, but for processors like me, quick answers can be a red flag. Not unlike the "How are you?"-"Fine, thanks" dance that we participate in on a daily basis, I have a number of them that I default to during conversations (and am disgusted with, after I allow them to exit my mouth).

The concept of short answers in church is pretty prevalent. In our high school ministry, we call these "cookie cutter answers". The principal of this, is that our answer comes out of our mouth before we've even given pause to the question, or more importantly...before we've allowed ourselves to stew in the tension long enough for it to travel to our heart and truly convict us. While the typical church cookie cutter answers are one word ("Jesus", "God", "love"), they're not restricted to that. They can be several words. They can even be a few sentences long. This can be even more problematic for us than the short answers, because it gives the impression of deep thought (to others AND to ourselves). It's less obvious that it's a cut-out and, therefore, easier to believe that heart penetration has happened.

Tension averted. 

I'm not sure there's anyone who really enjoys this kind of tension (perhaps there is, but for the sake of this argument I'm going with this assumption). We typically want to avoid it. I could include a list of things that, over the years, I've pulled my hand back in protest, rather than allowing God to tend to. I believe that often times, what we miss, is the opportunity for something to travel from our head to our heart. 

18 inches. 

Not terribly long, as far as length goes. But the magnitude of this journey is profound. Life-altering. More importantly, heart altering (which leads to fruit-bearing). Ironically, the answers we come to often come back to those cookie cutters... "Jesus", "God", "Love" ...but I believe how we get to these answers is really what is important. Without the process...the stewing...the penetration...the conviction...they are just words. Words that look good on a wall plaque, or on a bumper sticker, or tattooed on a shoulder (just slightly out of sight, perhaps)...and nothing else.

Have you ever thought you learned a lesson, only to repeat the same thing a month, year, or decade down the road? I believe this can be accredited to an unfinished journey from the head to the heart. Perhaps the conviction traveled a few inches. Perhaps it even made it a full foot. Long enough to convince you that your heart had been penetrated, even. But our repetition of life lessons - those things that keep popping up in spite of our desire for them to just go away - would suggest that the cycle was never truly completed. And I'm convinced it's directly related to our ability (or inability, rather) to sit in the tension and deal with the pain...for a moment...as our Father gently exposes the sin and removes the splinter from our lives.

As a parent, I don't desire to remove the splinter from my child for my own selfish reward. Sure, I admitted that I enjoy it, but the premise of that joy comes from knowing that I have the knowledge and power to remove something that is causing my child pain...even if it means causing discomfort to them for a moment.

And I relentlessly persist in removing the splinter because...watching them in unnecessary pain is painful.

I persist because...I know better than they do, in the moment.

I persist because...I love my child. 

And all my child has to do is give me their hand.