LEARNING TO LET GO

This morning I went down to get six-month-old Isaac ready for the day. He was laying there on his back in the semi-dark, kind of talking to himself, clutching his baby blanket and trying to figure out whether he was hungry yet. I walked quietly into the room and came over to his bed and greeted him. He saw me and smiled, and talked some baby talk to me. I reached in to take his blanket off and pick him up, but his happy talk turned fussy as he clutched at his precious blanket. The struggle lasted only a few seconds, but he refused to let go of that blanket of his. After all, it had seen him through the night, keeping him warm and safe, and it was rather traumatic to start the day by giving it up. "You have to let go, Zacky Boy," I said gently, "and there's better stuff waiting upstairs." After a few moments, I was able to pry the blanket out of his little hands and pick him up. We headed upstairs for a morning bottle, change of pants and clothes, and a world of light and people and fun.

How like Isaac I am! I clutch to my little source of security, not realizing that it really does me little good. My blanket doesn't really keep me safe, and it certainly won't help me with the events of the rest of the day, but I cling to it tenaciously. The Lord gently calls me by my special nickname, known only to him and me, and reminds me that He has better stuff for me upstairs.

"LORD, no matter how permanent and secure my blanket may seem, it is of no use up there. So teach me to let go and trust the One I love to supply me with better things. For you know the plans that you have for me, plans for my welfare and not for harm, to give me a future with hope. Pick me up, Daddy, and let's go play. Amen."