With Dad, in the Kitchen

My son recently came up to me while I was in the kitchen.

“I want to help” he said, looking up at me. 

i considered that being that he is three, It is doubt any of the actual cooking is a good idea for him. 

“Could you put the bowls on the table for breakfast?” I asked. 

He ran over to the drawer where the bowls are. He grabbed a pile of them and walked to the table. Carefully and thoughtfully selecting the bowl that is the right color for the right person. He knew who would want a pink one and who would want a yellow one. He eventually finished getting all the bowls where he wanted them. 

He walked back to me, “I got the bowls!:” he said with an excited look on his face. 

“I don’t see one for me. Could you pick one out for me?” I asked. 

He then hurried to the bowl drawer again and selected the perfect bowl for me. Imagine a pink paint store exploded, this is the bowl he selected for me. It is most certainly the wrong bowl for me. 

He returns and looks up at me, delighted to be helping. “I got you a bowl dada!”

“Thank you. You are a big helper.” He then ran off to play while I finished breakfast. 

When i started this blog, I didn’t expect to learn how much I wanted attention. There is this thirst in my soul to be admired and thought wise. It was revealing in my heart when I would watch the blog so carefully for when the viewership is up an down. i am happy when it was up. I was disappointed when it was down.

Which led me to a question. Whose blog is it? When I introduce it, I always say it is my blog. But maybe it is my blog only in the sense that my son was distributing his bowls. He is not overly concerned with ownership of the bowls. He is concerned with my approval and sharing in the experience of making breakfast with me.

My son has a lot to teach me. This is God’s blog. The joy I should feel is the joy of working together with my dada in what he is doing. The numbers of visitors and the impact that the blog has on them, that is too big a thing for me. If God sent one visitor and that one visitor wasn’t even helped, it should be OK with me. Why? Because I am not in the kitchen to really make breakfast. That is dada’s job. I am in the kitchen to enjoy some time working with my dada and “helping” him make whatever he wants to make.

There is real joy in that. My son does want a breakfast out of it as much as I really want to help those struggling with porn. But it is dada’s job to make sure the work is effective. How cool is it that I get to help in the kitchen? He might even let me pick his bowl.