When I was a little girl, around three or four years old, my mother occasionally needed to drop me off at a daycare center so she could run errands or attend to other things you can’t take care of with a pre-schooler in tow.
I hated it.
Even 40+ years later, I remember being terrified. I wasn’t a regular, so I didn’t know any of the other kids or the teachers or the routine or where anything was located. I didn’t want to be there because I didn’t fit in. I wanted to go home. I felt completely uncomfortable the entire time I was there. In fact, I remember crying unconsolably. When would my mom come back and get me out of this God-forsaken place?
Don’t cry. Your mom’s coming back for you soon.
I’m sure some kind teacher whispered that in my ear as she put her arms around me, the same way I’ve whispered it in the ears of children I’ve comforted over the years.
And, finally, Mom would come back, take me away, and everthing would be all right.
Today, I still feel like that tiny child sometimes.
There are days when the evil and sadness of this world overwhelm me. When problems in my own life terrify me.
I hate it.
You see, I don’t fit in here. This isn’t my home. I don’t want to be here. And sometimes, I cry inconsolably…
When, Lord? When will you come back and get me out of this God-forsaking place?
And that’s when the kind and precious Holy Spirit wraps the arms of the Word around me and whispers…
Don’t cry. Your Savior’s coming back for you soon.
Soon, little ones. Dry your tears. He’s coming back for us soon.
Out of honor to my mom, I just wanted to say that I totally understand why she had to take me to the daycare from time to time. I would have done the same thing with my child. I’m sure it was a fine daycare with loving teachers. I’m just the kind of person who never outgrew stranger anxiety. This was my brokenness, not anyone else’s unkindness.
