push me

As I sat listening to my friend Tim preach a sermon, the first time I’d ever actually heard him preach, I was taken back by his acute observations and eloquent retelling of an experience he had just recently. Tim and his wife Vicky are on a journey to do a church plant, and have teamed up with Metrobrook to envision what God might have for them and the city of Milwaukee. Metrobrook Church, where Tim is now on staff, is currently doing a series called “God Is Closer Than You Think: Seeing God in the Ordinary.” This idea was coined from John Ortberg’s book, “God Is Closer Than You Think” and the pastors of Metrobrook have tapped into great teachers such as Rob Bell and Rabbi Lawrence Kushner. However, it was Tim’s detailing of his experience that spoke to my heart. Often times, when Tim needs to do some thinking or dreaming, he heads out to the place where he believes God is calling him to plant a church – a part of town referred to as Bayview. He will venture out to a coffee shop, or some other local place in order to be a part of the area he is being called to. On one particular day, he was drawn to a park where he sat and observed families enjoying their time at a playground. He watched as these children were playing, hearts seemingly filled with joy.

I listened to him talk about how anything is possible at the playground. To quote part of his story, “The playground is a place of wonder. Where slides turn into mountains, and sand is set on fire and turns into lava. A place you take your shovel in the summer and your sled in the winter. You go there to catch fireflies at dusk and you only leave when your eyes are shutting on their own. Mostly you go to the playground to play. To throw yourself into anything beyond what you could ever ask for or even imagine.”

The last two sentences are what struck me. “Mostly you go to the playground to play. To throw yourself into anything beyond what you could ever ask for or even imagine.” After Tim told us about his story, he had us turn to the people around us, and share our own observations. I couldn’t help but share a story about my little friend Mimi.

As has been the story of my life over the past year, I cannot tell you how much I have learned from my little friends at the Mission. And Mimi is no exception. Every Friday, we’d take all the City Camp kids on a field trip somewhere. One week it was rollerskating, another week it was the zoo. But common to most field trips was time at a park. Whether it be eating lunch there, or taking a break from animal gazing, most of our field trips included some sort of play time on a playground.

On one particular field trip, I can remember a few of the kindergartners on the swings, trying to get their little bodies swinging as high as they could. It wasn’t long before I heard, “Miss Tory, Miss Tory – push me!” There were a few voices, but as I looked over, there was Mimi, desperately trying to get moving on her swing. I wandered over to her, and began to push her. I believe I’m probably going to be a somewhat over-protective mother because I found myself not wanting to push her very high. However, she kept shouting with glee: “Push me, Miss Tory! Push me!” As soon as she was high enough, and her little legs seemed to keep her moving, I started to walk away. I wasn’t more than a few steps away when I hear, “Miss Tory, push me!” I said, “Mimi, you’ve got it now… You can do it by yourself.” But she insisted that I continue to push her.

The thought struck me: She doesn’t want me to push her just so she can keep moving. She wants me to be engaged in what she is doing – she wants me to partake in her joy of swinging. Really, I could have just stood behind her, cheering her on and she would have been perfectly satisfied. In fact, for a while, that was all I did. The point wasn’t my actual pushing, but rather my presence. She wanted me there while she enjoyed her time on the swing.

It made me wonder how often I ask God to engage with me in this way. How often do I ask God to “push” me, but then let him walk away? How often do I ask him to join me in my joyful moments, sharing with me in the beauty I’m experiencing? How often do I say “Push me!” not just to get God to do something for me, but only to know that he’s there with me, enjoying the moment?

My little friend Mimi taught me how to swing. As I was thinking about this idea tonight, I went to a park I where I spent a lot of time growing up. It was late, and the park was fairly dark. But as I moved back and forth on the swing, I thought of Mimi shouting “Push me, Miss Tory! Push me!” As I sat there, moving my feet in and out, reaching new heights, I whispered in the dark, “Push me!”

May I be a person who in moments of beauty and joy learns to engage with the Creator of everything, who cries “Push me!” even when I’m already in motion.

(For Tim's entire story, go here. It's titled "Playground.")