The Hardest Word
Grandparents, according to folklore, are not even
supposed to know how to say “no”. But
perhaps the most dramatic and jarring experience I have had with the word no,
was as a grandparent. It was when my
wife and I were watching our granddaughter Hannah, who was just two-years-old at
the time.
For some reason, likely no more complicated than she
could, Hannah developed a fascination of climbing on top of the coffee table in
the living room. First, although she
learned how, with persistence, to pull her way up on the table top, it was a
far enough drop back down that we were concerned she would hurt herself on the
dismount. Second, there was a nice,
decorative and expensive candle on the table that we really didn’t want to keep
saving over and over, or worse, have it knocked to the floor and broken if we
didn’t get there in time.
That evening Hannah positioned herself at the far end
of the coffee table and grabbed hold. I
didn’t raise my voice, even though I was perturbed by now as this was about the
tenth time she attempted to climb up that evening. I had every intention of using the “no” word,
but all I got out of my mouth was a firm, “Hannah”. She looked at me as if pierced to the
heart. As soon as we made eye contact,
her bottom lip swelled three times its normal size and she literally dropped to
the floor in a boneless puddle of tears.
Grandma came rushing in from the kitchen. She looked at the pile of sobbing pajamas on
the floor; then she looked at me, still seated in my chair. “I didn’t even get the “no” out,” I
explained. “I just said her name and she
melted to the floor!” The worst of it
was that Hannah showed us all that, even at that age, she had the tenacity to
hold a grudge. For the next two years
whenever she visited and it was time to go home, Hannah walked a wide half-circle
around me. There was no good-bye hug for
Grandpa Dan. Her parents were not
pleased with that at all, but I insisted that no child should be forced to show
affection for someone. I lived the hurt
of that “no” along with Hannah. Finally,
quite unexpectantly, at Christmas of the second year, Hannah ran up and threw
her little arms around me. I pulled her
close into my shoulder. That was a hug
worth waiting for.
I’ve found that when we pray that God doesn’t use the “no”
word at all. It’s too hard for him. Many times, even when we haven’t even really
asked Him out loud, He says “yes”. That
is the easy answer. We get what we want,
when we want it; sometimes at the risk that we may not even appreciate that it was God
who made the good happen.
Other times though, God answers, “Not now.” That is a tougher answer. He is asking for us to trust Him. There is something for us to learn in that
kind of wait. It’s a bit like waiting
for two years for that hug from Hannah.
But God doesn’t delay out of spite; the wait is to allow the pieces to
fall into place as He planned from the beginning.
The word God never uses is “no”. He cannot refuse our heartfelt pleading. He can, and does at times say, “I have
something better in mind.” It is the
answer that He gave Jesus in the Garden.
He always wants what is best for us, and those around us. We might not understand this side of the
resurrection what the better was that He saw, but He sees it. The challenge to our love for Him is, will we
pull back when He answers that way? Will
we withhold our hugs from Him? Or will
we run to Him, throw our arms around Him and let Him hold us close in complete
trust that the better is on its way?
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
PS: Little Hannah is no longer little. She graduates from high school this
week. That’s her graduation picture above. May she always trust in the answers that God
has for her prayers because they are of love.
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