Spiritual Peeling

My son loves peeling oranges.  What I really mean by that is the mere sight of a box of clementines in the pantry gives him the giggles.  Giggles that lead to an excited mix of jumping and dancing along with a joyful plea, “Oranges, please!  I peel it!”  He has always loved oranges, but now that he can take on a reasonable portion of the peeling himself, it’s a whole new world. 

I started to wonder what exactly makes peeling an orange so exciting.  And it’s not just peeling oranges.  Putting his milk back in the refrigerator, helping to stir dinner on the stove, putting his socks on – all of these things give him a jolt of pleasure that’s written all over his face.  These are relatively simple tasks we take for granted (until a 2-year-old demands to help, thereby making the chore take three times as long), so on the surface I couldn’t see the joy in them at all. 

On the other hand, if it was all brand new to me I might have a different perspective.  If I had to sit by and watch someone else peel my oranges for a countless string of days, I would probably feel downright giddy about doing it myself.  My son is so eager to learn, and he relishes in his ever-growing independence.  So if I stop and think about it, it really makes perfect sense – if I could learn to do ten new things every day and begin to master them, that would be exciting!  (Oh if only that period of rapid brain development repeated itself later in life...)

Pure and simple: he’s grateful that he has the ability to peel an orange.  Grateful and filled with such a sweet and innocent joy that it comes out of him in giggles and hops.  Wow.  I could take a cue from that.  Instead of thinking ahead to my first meeting on my way into work, I could occasionally just pause and be grateful for a job I love.  And in the midst of stressing over dinner plans and grocery lists, I can be extremely thankful that we have the ability to provide nutritious food for our family.  

I am at once humbled and struck by the irony that a little bundle of energy in the form of a child has continually reminded me to slow down.  When my son was just a few weeks old and nursing with his tiny hands folded on his chest, I imagined he was offering a silent prayer of thanksgiving.  And now, he’s outwardly expressing his gratitude through the joy he finds in peeling an orange. 

God, grant me the wisdom of a 2-year-old.