Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Building Houses

When I'm living under the illusion that life is under my perfect control, Tuesdays are the days I'm completely shaken loose.

Those are the days we go to play therapy.

For the past month or so, Little Bitty has led the playtime hour by arranging all the pillows in the room to build a house.

She places a blanket over our heads for protection.

It's the roof to cover us.

From the bad guys.  Or the monster.

Because something bad will happen if people see us.

So we hide under the covers and blow bubbles and play with play dough.

We probably look pretty comical.

Two grown women (the therapist and I) barefoot and squished in pretzel shapes between tiny pillows with Little Bitty in the middle.  The blanket over our heads.

Our shoes in heaps around us, along with the counselor's bag of toys.

The last few appointments, walls of the house have been literally falling away.

A window has opened and now a door.

We are no longer playing inside, but outside the house on the floor of the playroom.

I always feel like I'm teetering on the edge of light-hearted games and something heavier.

Waiting for the meltdown or bomb to drop.

My heart thumping in anticipation of an explosion.

Today, as Little Bitty curved her fingers deep into play dough, stretching and breaking the swirled colors into pretend bowls for the festival in China (remember this is a three-year old leading our play...I just nod and go along), I marinated for a few minutes in the words she off-offhandedly spoke.

Deep words:  there is only one Melanie, one mommy.

The therapist and I locked eyes over Little Bitty's spiraled ebony hair and grinned at each other.  A precious moment to savor.

But, like the bubbles that temporarily drift through the air during playtime, the heaven-moment suddenly popped by the sharpness of her next words:

Sometimes mommies and daddies get spankings....

Tiny brown fingers kneading and turning the dough round and round.  Flattening and sorting pieces into containers.  Humming to herself she says:

Building houses breaks hearts... 

Building houses breaks Jesus's heart.

The explosion.

The flesh coming loose in my own heart.

An internal silent gasp at the raw truth of her words.

In a very profound way, her three-year old heart was saying that moving to a new home breaks her heart.  That the brokenness of this world breaks Jesus's heart.

Her way of saying that the tearing away from deep relationships is painful.

That losing family is gut-wrenching.

That building a new home is hard. 

I am undone on many days.

Weary as I lay my head on my pillow at night.

But on Tuesday mornings I am always crying out for rescue.

From my selfish heart.

For the children around the world needing homes.

For little ones without family.

For those waiting.

May they know the ultimate, One and Only Rescuer of their souls.

And may He daily give me the strength and grace to love well where He has placed me.

{photo credit:  www.littleheartsbooks.com}

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Kim Reaves said...

I'm in tears! Thank you for sharing your Tuesday with me.:)

Celi said...

God inspired deep truths spoken through your child. I pray that you find healing and happiness. May God bless you abundantly with peace. ♥

Melanie Singleton said...

Thank you Celi!