I Got It
My two-year-old recently realized she can do lots of things for herself. It may take her forever and a day, but by golly, she’s going to do it.
“I got it.” Her gaze never waivers from the task at her tiny hands.
Buttoning her shirt? She’s got it.
Putting her socks and shoes on? She’s got it.
Brushing her teeth? She’s got it.
Or so she thinks. But there are times when she doesn’t ‘ got’ it.
There are times—like when she’s trying to buckle herself into her car seat—that her tiny thumbs simply aren’t strong enough to click the buckle together.
But that doesn’t stop her from pushing down with all her might, trying to force the thing together with sheer will, her face reddening with strain. Barely breathing, she squeezes her eyes shut, and I gently guide her along.
My daughter’s eyes pop open as a smile springs into her cheeks. “I did it!”
My heart melts at her enthusiasm and swells over her small accomplishment. I know that feeling—the seemingly impossible task, the struggle, the doubt, and the sweet, semi-unexpected victory.
Like my daughter, I am stubborn to a fault. I work tirelessly, my body and soul strained to the brink of collapse, refusing to give up. On anything. Ever.
I got it.
Like my daughter, accomplishment has lit my face, the thrill burning so deeply inside me it glistens in my eyes.
I got it.
But really, there are times when I don’t ‘got’ it. There are times when I’m simply not able to do everything on my own.
Of course, that doesn’t stop me from pushing through with all my might, trying to force things together with sheer will, my face reddening with strain. Barely breathing, I squeeze my eyes shut and work harder.
And, like my daughter, I get so consumed in the struggle, I completely miss the invisible hand that guides me along.
So now, as the demands in my life multiply, I choose to open my eyes and search for the only One whose hand can click things into place.
The truth is, I don’t got it.
I’ve got Him. And that’s way better.