Anytime I'm working on something, and I realize I haven't heard Lylah for several minutes, I instinctively go looking. If it's quiet for long, she's up to something.
This scenario played out today, and I went walking around the house looking for her. I found her on Gray's bed with a lollipop in her mouth. I know she heard me calling her, but when I walked in she was sitting on the bed with her back to me. I could just barely see her peeking out of the corner of her eye.
"What are you doing, baby?"
Silence. I picked her up.
"What are you doing?"
She looked down.
"Are you hiding?"
She looked up at me, and her teensy two-year-old face crumbled and her voice cracked, "Yeah."
"Why, baby? Why are you hiding?"
I asked her a couple more times until she just blurted out, "I need you!"
Oh, my. Seriously? Here I am trying to get my kid to admit breaking the rules and sneaking a lollipop, and this.
So many times. Ashamed and alone. I hide quietly, secretly looking out of the corner of my eye for a rescue. The fault is my own, but I'm waiting to be scooped up. There is nothing else to say now, except, "I need you!"
"Then they cried out to the Lord in their troubles; He saved them out of their distresses."-Psalm 107:19