One morning when Ned was five, I was folding laundry in his room while he was going through the gymnastics associated with obediently making his bed. I had told him before about the times I would come into his room when he was at kindegarten – either to put laundry away or to dust or something – and find that he had made his bed (very lumpy indeed but nevertheless completely made) as I had asked. It was not until this particular morning, however, that I had ever actually observed him making his bed. And when I did, it touched my heart.
Ned had all the pillows on the floor. He was on top of his mattress, right in the exact middle, trying to flip the various layers into flatness -- smoothing them by elongating his body and moving ever closer to the outer edge until the lumps disappeared. It struck me that he was so sweetly obeying – trying and trying – and totally without complaint. Every day he had been struggling like this, so faithfully. I was touched to see his efforts with my very own eyes.
Next thing you know, I was crying. “Mommy!” Ned exclaimed. “What’s the matter?” To which I replied, “Nothing, Ned – it just touches my heart to see you making your bed – to see how hard you are trying, to see all the trouble you go to just to get it done.” And then, I believe, I heard God say:
“I love the lumps.”
God sees my effort – He looks at my heart. My little boy, Ned, had shown me what that looks like. It doesn’t matter how well I understand each and every Bible passage. It doesn’t matter how well I teach it or even how well I DO it. It only matters that I try.