Parenthood. The magical, wonderful, whimsical whirlwind that can occasionally provide insight into what the Lord might think when He looks at you. It is so good, and I am learning so much.

As you probably already know, the Bear LOVES his little car. Like ride-it-till-his-toes-bleed loves it. He has worn through a pair of shoes since we began letting him ride it around outside, (in late December!) and he is now working on a second pair, which we have ‘reinforced’ with super glue and bike tire inner tube (Mark is a keen mountain biker, so we do have that on hand).

Last week, I began taking him for longer strolls around the neighbourhood, much to his delight. We came to the other end of the complex (a good 15 minute walk at little-bear-on-his-little-car pace) and as we rounded the cul-de-sac for the return journey, he stopped at the plant and rock feature in the centre and chose a rock. I thought this was rather amusing. There were tons of rocks there, but apparently, this one was special. He sat the wee rock atop his wee car steering wheel, and began the journey home. I thought it was adorable and wished I knew what was going on inside his head.

Apparently, what was going on in his head was: I have found golden treasure. Precious treasure. I must go slowly. I must be careful. I must not lose my precious golden treasure rock. Are you hazarding a guess I got tired of the golden rock pretty quickly?

Golden-treasure-rock-carrying-pace is even slower than little-bear-on-his-little-car pace. In fact, golden-treasure-rock-carrying-pace is a pace at which you must stop regularly, to make sure golden-treasure-rock is still there. And if said treasure should slip from the steering wheel, even just so that it’s balancing between the inner circle of the steering wheel and the outer circle (where your mother might have the opinion that it’s quite safe), still you must move the treasure-rock back to its proper place, in the centre of the steering wheel, where there is a bumpy Winnie-the-Pooh feature, and treasure-rock actually has very little hope of staying put. Should treasure-rock fall onto the ground, well then you must reach it…you must fetch, you must grab it, you must get it back onto the steering wheel as quickly as possible. And if treasure-rock has fallen out of reach, you must notify Mommy as quickly as possible, in order to make sure treasure-rock returns to steering wheel. ASAP. ASAP ASAP.

Those were the rules, I discovered, of the golden-treasure-rock game. This meant the Bear was driving into curbs, going up driveway edges in a sideways fashion (which almost made him fall over once, car and all), and zig-zagging from one side of the street to the other. Why? Because he wasn’t watching where he was going. He was keeping both eyes firmly planted on his new-found pride and joy, the stupid golden-treasure-pet-rock. Insert Big-Mommy-Sigh here. Sigh…

During this joyful adventure in learning patience, I began to wonder how often the Lord might watch me carrying my own pet rocks. I wonder if I might get so distracted by the little things of the world I’m holding so dear that I’m not even paying attention to where I’m headed. I’m zig-zagging all over the path I’m supposed to be travelling on, losing track of my ultimate direction, and the bigger picture of the journey of life, because I’m concentrating on making sure I hold onto what I feel it’s most important to hold onto. I do think I have some pet rocks in my heart. And I’m beginning to ask the Lord to help me see what they are, so I can refocus on what’s ahead, and perhaps put the rocks back to the curb where they belong. Do you think you have any pet rocks?

Eventually, we came to a driveway full of rocks. This was after going at snail’s p golden-treasure-rock-carrying-pace for what seemed like hours. Probably 30 minutes, who knows. And the Bear saw a glorious sight. Treasure-rocks. Tons of them. And he puzzled and puzzled till his puzzler was sore. Not really. He thought for a moment and picked up another rock or two or four, until I eventually encouraged him that he couldn’t take these rocks, since it looked like someone had paid to have laid there as a feature of their front garden. So he returned the other rocks. And then he put the golden-treasure-rock he’d been carefully carrying, clutching and fretting over for all that time down, too. I was very glad he decided to let it go. I’ve since discovered what he’d already figured out: there will be new rocks to pick up and put down tomorrow!