Most of the toys my two babies played with over three decades ago have been tossed or passed on to others. But not the twelve green, yellow, red and blue nesting cups. Over thirty-odd years, nine moves, two children and five grandbeans, we’ve never lost one. Not even the tiniest blue cup, small enough to choke a child. We’ve always kept that one back until the baby is old enough not to try to eat it.
A few days ago, Lois, thirteen months old now, sat on a fuzzy burgundy blanket on our living room floor, puzzling over those cups. When I first gave them to her, they nestled neatly inside each other. One toss of her hand scattered them. Surprised, she looked over the colourful disarray, then for a full half hour she explored their possibilities. (Her four older siblings had gone to play downstairs so nothing distracted her.)
I sat close, watching her little fingers work; amazed at her concentration. A few times I reached out to help her, but mostly, she worked alone, seriously exploring the cups’ mystery.
The busy-ness of a baby is a beautiful thing to watch. But as I did, I pondered. What if, perhaps, the most important things any of us ever needed to know about life and faith we could have learned from our childhood nesting cups? Lessons like these ten:
1. The cups of life and faith, though simple at first glimpse, also hold complexity, mystery, and infinite possibility.
2. Handle your cups with delight and wonder, knowing that our Heavenly Father stands ready to guide and advise.
3. Over our lifetime, some of your cups will tumble out and roll away. Chase only what God points to.
4. Tall towers are nice, but smaller structures, though less flashy, prove more sturdy.
5. Don’t let your fear of tumbles stop you from building. Tumbles are sometimes necessary and seldom fatal.
6. When you tire of arranging your cups in the same way, ask God to give you a brand new idea.
7. Expect messes. Only untouched cups stay in perfect order.
8. Never quit when your cups don’t fit together the way you hoped. Someone big is sitting alongside. Ask for help.
9. Don’t complain about a missing cup. Your Heavenly Parent will give it to you if and when he knows you won’t hurt yourself.
10. When you’re too tired to enjoy your cups anymore, hold out your arms and let God scoop you up.
Lois is too small to understand all this. But perhaps when she’s older, and handling far more potent cups, I pray she’ll find this column archived somewhere, and that it teaches her.
Live well, and stick close to Jesus, Baby Girl. Nana loves you forever.
