Little is Large

Little Things by Julia Fletcher Carney – 1845

Little drops of water,

Little grains of sand,

Make the mighty ocean

And the beauteous land.

And the little moments,

Humble though they be,

Make the mighty ages

Of eternity.

So our little errors

Lead the soul away,

From the paths of virtue

Into sin to stray.

Little deeds of kindness,

Little words of love,

Make our earth an Eden,

Like the heaven above.

My eldest son was sitting in the passenger seat when he asked, “Mom, what’s your favourite car?” I was sitting in the seat behind him because sometimes it’s just easier on a road trip for the mother to be right in the thick of things: providing snacks, passing water bottles, holding hands, putting plasters on old scabs, smiling and cooing reassuringly at the baby in his car seat and so forth.

“I think a Land Rover.” I replied, cocking my chin up and peering to the right. His silence and the way his head moved slightly backwards caused me to elaborate further. Maybe he thought land rovers were a poor car choice. “The old ones,” I continued, “the ones with lots of character and a good paint job.”

“Mom, I asked what’s your favourite flower?” he clarified when a vase filled with colourful Land Rovers in his mind’s eye indicated that either he wasn’t speaking clearly, or I wasn’t listening properly.

It was a brief moment in time but it’s one of those conversations that will stick as we recall it with amusement over the years. We have so many of them in our family – jokes, miscommunications and childish quips – inconsequential in and of themselves, but all added together and remembered over our lifetime, and we become a family who laugh at ourselves and who laugh together. It’s good for the heart and good for the home.

The other day we were in traffic, edging along slowly, when we noticed the guy who mimes near a particular round about. He was painted silver and dressed in grey and was standing motionless as if he’d turned to stone just as he was about to cross the road. His metallic sunglasses shielded his eyes but I could see his mouth and felt sure that if I smiled really broadly for a long time he would have to smile back at me eventually. I was determined to crack his impeccable pose, when one of our children gave him a thumbs up and he returned the gesture without moving a single muscle other than the ones controlling his hand. A momentary interaction that couldn’t have brought more joy to us (and to him) if an actual statue had come alive. Just the lift of a single thumb, that’s all it took. We saw him and he saw us and the sun shone kindly on us all.

One foot in front of the other is what marathon runners are made of. I don’t think anyone enjoys their toenails falling off and the stitch in their side, the cramp in their calf and the blistered skin bleeding into the back of their shoe – but people with a goal and a dream or a finish line to cross will not be distracted by the discomforts that arise during the journey. They can train and have a game plan and put things into place to make them more comfortable, but in the end it’s about taking the next step or getting up the next morning or pitching up when they feel like quitting.

When I was a little girl we used to sing a song in Sunday School that went like this (sing along with me if you know it):

Little by little, every day, little by little, in every way, My Jesus is changing me

He’s changing me, He’s changing me

Since I made a turn about face

I’ve been walking in His grace

My Jesus is changing me.

He’s changing me, my Precious Jesus, I’m not the same person that I used to be.

It’s been a slow growing, but there’s a knowing, that Jesus is changing me.

We might think it’s about speed or magnitude, but there is a sure and steady truth that blooms in the little things. It doesn’t take much folks. It could be a misunderstanding that turns into a classic family joke, or a thumbs up between strangers or a footstep followed by a million more until those feet cross the line in triumph. It could be a short prayer and a simple change in posture to divert a life from shipwreck or breakdown. Simple moments in time that shift atmospheres, begin solid traditions or cause a pool that has been ever so slowly filling up to begin pouring a waterfall.