The Solidity of Things Is from God, VI

There are all sorts of imperfections with that analogy, of course, beginning with the fact that we are not children but adults.  Surely God should treat us as such!  Surely we should get to decide when it is time to restrain our appetites—to suffer—and not be handed suffering on a time-table from the heavenly dictator, no?  For we are adults.

Then again, are we?  Are you?  I’m not always so sure about myself.  The things I cling to—my comforts, my time—I hardly cling to in an adult fashion.  I may not do the angry dance my toddler does when something doesn’t go my way, but—I would prefer not to think about how I do tend to react.

Because really, the things that I value and hate losing and fear to lose are about as solid, in the end, as pea crisps.  They are beautiful, and even sometimes have a sort of glory to them: in moments, they make me happy.  But I know that their solidity comes from somewhere else; they are not sustained of themselves.  I hesitate to say, with many of the saints, that they are trash—after all, God made them and gave them to me.  But they are petits riens, little nothings.  And when I enjoy them, whether I know it or not, I’m really enjoying something much bigger, and older, and stronger, and better; something so terrifying that I can’t quite face up to it yet.

Now I know how my kids feel looking at their dinner plates, I guess.

But hey, they actually enjoyed the meal by the end of it!