My son loves everything Lego. He builds them, watches videos about them and he dreams of being a Lego designer someday. He really is very good at building them.
It wasn't always this way. His first few Lego sets usually involved him putting a few bricks in place and then me finishing up the set. Soon he would stick with me the whole time, though I still did a lot of the work. Then he only wanted me to help find pieces in the pile and he would put them all in place.
Before I knew it, he would get a new set, take it up to his room and come back a a little while later with it totally complete. He knew he could do it, he had total confidence and faith in his abilities. If you asked him, he was the perfect Lego builder.
As his 8th birthday approached he really wanted the Lego Technic Supercar. I worried a little as this set was designed for much older kids; but after all he was the perfect Lego builder so we got it for him.
He ran up to his room with his new set and began building. He quickly progressed but then he hit a step and realized something, somewhere along the way he had made a mistake. He tried to fix it but he did not know how and he lost it.
Full blown tears and screaming on the ground losing it.
I offered to help fix it, he refused saying it was impossible; it could never be fixed. I tried reasoning with him, I tried reassuring him- heck I even tried threatening him that I would never buy a set like this for him again... but he refused.
Refused to touch it and said he would never build Legos again. I really was lost as to what I should do. I felt helpless and like there was nothing I could do.
Almost a month passed.
One Saturday he approached his father. "Dad can you help me fix my car" he humbly asked.
"Of course" he agreed.
With the help of his father they were able to figure out where the mistake was and were able to fix it and move forward completing the car.
It was not until he finally decided he would not be able to do it and that he did need help, not until he swallowed his pride and asked his father for help that he was able to do it.
I often go through life relying on my "perfect" skills: my wisdom, my life experience, my ability to work hard; all good wonderful and necessary things. At times life even seems easy and really good. But then something happens and I don't know how to fix it.
I can cry and scream and throw myself on your floor, all tactics I have used at some point. But then I remember, remember what I have learned many times and what my son helped me relearn once again. No matter how skilled and adequate I am, I cannot do it alone. I need to humble myself, reach out and say "Father, I cannot do it; will you help me?"
And He does.
The impossible becomes possible. Through Him my imperfect, mistake prone- self can become perfect-- but only when I say "I cannot do it, help me, save me."
Thank you my son for helping me remember that I cannot do it alone-- only through my Savior is it possible.
|My son with his completed Supercar|