God Is Like A Special Needs Parent

This cute kid wanted a snack, like any self-respecting kidlet, he went foraging.

He's not usually picky about what he eats, it can be anything. It might come from the trash, or under the table, the fact that he actually found cookies this time, makes this moment worth comemorating. 

Except that he didn't ask. 

And not only did he not ask, but he helped himself to a mostly empty bag of animal cookies. 

I say mostly empty, because it had about an inch of crumbs in the bottom. 

yeah....... 

You can see where this is headed. 

I walked in to see him perched awkwardly on the bar stool. Crumbs littering the tile floor.  You could tell how uncomfortable he was, he was't making eye contact, and he was half holding his breath, half chuffing out little breaths.
Another thing worth noting, I didn't lose my cool!  I just said calmly, "Well, you know where the vacuum is. Get to it."  I thought the punishment fit the crime.

But to our baby, it was torture.  The noise, the vibration, the dirty feet...

Don't you think that God is like a Special Needs Parent?

We are constantly trying to wander off.
We are easily distracted.
We don't consider the affects of our actions.
We are always "uncomfortable" in our situations, begging God to bend the world to accomodate us.
We are non-verbal in the way that we forget to use our words, and instead melt into tantrum puddles. (admittedly, this one might just be me...)
We only occasionally glimpse the bigger picture, and tune in to what He has in mind.

While I watch our little man struggle to free the dreaded machine, he drags it on it's side into the kitchen, has a brief altercation with the plug, and takes a breath, steeling himself for the sound and vibrations that are coming.
Crawling on all fours he quickly turns it on and scoots backwards from it as it roars to life. You can see the little gears turning, as he realizes that first he will need to address the layer of fine crumbs coating the bottoms of both feet.
He scrunches his little face, and  holding his breath he runs the hose as quickly as he can manage then wipes his feet and runs the sucker over both hands.
I'm sitting on the floor with him throughout this whole process, promising lotion and clean socks, but he is closing in on panic... I can feel the barometer rising and his eyes becoming more and more animal.
I took the hose from him, and we finish the job together.
I teared up when he hugged my leg and said, "Fank you Mom, you saved me."

Will these horrible few minutes scar him for life?
No.
By the time this is posted he will have forgotten it completely.
But they have changed me.
I will remember him facing his nemesis, his courage as he turned it on, and his gratitude at his rescue.

We are compared to sheep in the Bible.  But I don't know much about sheep.
Special Needs is my wheel house, and I see God in these moments.