3 minute read
I just drove my seven-year-old daughter Mae Mae to her dance class. It’s about a twelve-minute drive. I feel confident that she talked thirteen of those minutes.
She told me about the board game she and her sister Bomber were playing this afternoon and how Bomber almost won until Mae Mae pulled off an unexpected winning move.
She told me about how long it had been since she’d seen her good friend Kine.
She talked about her class and her teacher and in which month each of her classmates’ birthdays fell.
She talked about Christmas cards and the sweet admin at the front desk of her school and how her teacher got a bottle of fancy lotion the whole class gets to use during the dry winter months.
She talked about this… and she talked about that.
She talked about anything and everything that crossed her mind.
She was happy telling her Daddy about her life.
And, of course, I was happy to listen.
I love knowing what’s going in her heart.
I love knowing how she’s feeling about things.
I love getting her unvarnished read on the world around her.
And I love that she feels so free and comfortable with me that she can just… talk.
And talk. And talk.
And even though I hardly said a word to her dozens, I loved listening to her, being there with her, taking it all in.
*****
I wish I talked to God sometimes like Mae Mae talks to me.
So often I come to God (God! Omnipotent One! Ye of the Great Beyond! Maker of All! The Preeminent Potentate!) carefully choosing my words, considering every little thing I’m going to say, how I’m going to ask Him for something, holding back the things that feel too normal or earthly or un-divine.
I mean… He’s God. Prayer is some valuable face time with the Big Guy. Obviously He wants me coming to Him walking on tiptoes, right?
No. Of course not.
He’s God. My Heavenly Father.
Because of that, I believe He wants me coming to Him the way Mae Mae come to me.
God wants me to come to Him feeling chatty, unpolished, raw and real.
He wants me telling Him all about how I’m feeling about the world around me…
And what I’m interested in… and excited about… and fearful of.
He wants me to tell Him every little thing going on with me.
Why? Because He doesn’t know all of that stuff? Of course not. He’s God. He knows everything.
I think it’s because He wants to establish and build the same thing I want to establish and build when I listen to Mae Mae—relationship, nearness, intimacy.
Here’s a great verse about this:
Psalm 62:8
Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge.
“Pour out your hearts to Him.” I love that phrase. The psalmist doesn’t say, “Carefully use an eye dropper and cautiously measure out tiny bits of your heart to Him.” No. He says “pour.” I picture a big glass pitcher dumping out its contents… every last drop.
*****
What would this look like for you? What if you came to God with the wild, happy, reckless abandon of a little child just talking, talking, talking to their daddy?
What if you told Him about your day and your friends and the people who drive you nuts and your job and what you’re thankful for and scared of and secretly wishing would happen?
What if you just… talked… to Him?
He wants to hear from me this way. And He wants to hear from you that way, too. I believe He really, really does.
Today… may you talk to God like Mae Mae talks to me.