Under the Desk

My brother called this weekend and said that his younger son appears to be having trouble adjusting to their recent relocation from Oahu to Tucson – in July.  My immediate thought: you took the kid from paradise to h-e-double-hockey-sticks – where is the surprise?  Less than supportive, I know.  So, I clamped down on the gremlin in my head and instead murmured supportively.

Z, my nephew, is 5, and I adore him.   He’s bold and funny and fearless – all things I aspire to be.  However, his little flame has burned a bit low since the move, as first indicated when his mother asked if he’d made any friends at day care.  Very calmly, very coolly he responded with eyebrows arched, “I already have two.  I don’t need more.”  He meant the ones he’d left behind in Hawaii.  This did not bode well.

Z started first grade; the first week sailed by smoothly.  Those of us who had held our breath let it out and went about our business.  Then the proverbial  poop  hit the fan.  Z had discovered a new way to deal with frustrations at school; whenever his teacher – a saintly woman – requested that Z do something he was less than excited about, he’d crawl under his desk.  Yes, read that again.   Z now crawls under his desk when he doesn’t want to do something.  In fact, I imagine, he regularly bivouacs there much of the school day.

We’re not talking civil disobedience here.  There’s been no mention of banning fish sticks  in the cafeteria, or changing to all white chalk, or picketing for free Nutty Buddy ice cream treats.   Nope, we’re  talking dislike of spelling homework or the next reading assignment.

Now, had I been that brave when I was in first grade, I may have disappeared under my desk during math class, but that’s not the point, nor was that the response my brother was seeking or needed, and it certainly wasn’t going to help Z.  My first response, though, was no more helpful.  I laughed.  Yes, pure, unrestrained mirth.

I envisioned my little blond guy crouched under his desk, his poor teacher kneeling before him treats proffered in a feeble attempt to lure him out much like I try to assuage my temperamental Yorkie.  Think Skinner’s Operant Conditioning, or at least I do.   In my smug adult-ness I thought how cute Z was in creating a little boxed comfort zone for himself.

But here’s the thing: I’m not so different.  I  too huddle under my desk.  Every single day.  No, of course not literally, though I might if I still fit, but I certainly do figuratively.  Here’s what I mean: I’m told to do things that I don’t necessarily want to do by my Father in heaven in that gentle still small voice.  He gives me the choice to obey Him or simply not – to crawl under my desk, if you will.

Now, I am a shy, relatively small woman.  In fact, I barely clear 5 feet, and on some days one might refer me to as “timid.”  So, I’m not a very physically imposing person, and more often than not that still, small voice asks me to  stretch myself in a new ministry, to reach out to a new person, to do something that will undoubtedly make me extremely uncomfortable.

So, what do I do?  Why, I scurry under my desk.  And there is no telling how long I’m going to entrench.  And what does Abba do?  Why, He waits.  He very, very patiently waits out my neurotic self-doubts and questions – Am I strong enough, good enough?  Will they accept me, be nice to me?  Do I need a hair cut?  Does my butt look big in this? – any number of odd questions I can come up with.

He waits until I have decided to trust that He already has a handle on my cracked thinking, and when I crawl out He welcomes me into His arms then pushes me gently in the direction He asked me to go.

Oh, there may be some ramifications resulting from the delay, but then that’s not His fault.  My Father loves me unconditionally, and maybe the unhappy fallout will  encourage me to remain above the furniture line.  Let’s refer to this a negative/positive punishment, but this, too, is an example of His love.  How do I know this?  Because Jesus still loved Peter after all the doubt and denial, because Abba still loved David after David failed so miserably, because He has still loved me time and time again.

So, what about Z?  Well, that boy knows that he can come out from under that desk when he’s safe, when he’s loved.  And isn’t love – let’s capitalize that just for fun – Love – is what it all comes down to?  Z will be just fine.