Hidden Things

A few weeks ago we were walking out of church on a Sunday morning and Samuel was telling people as he walked past them, “I put money in the box today!” He was genuinely excited to donate his pennies and nickels. Everyone he shared his news with was quite encouraging, stopping to pat him on the back or tell him that was great. I let this go on a few times and then I stopped him and said, “Son, it’s really not wise to tell people when you do something good. It’s best to just be silent and let your actions speak for themselves. In fact, it’s the people who do wonderful things in secret that I admire most. God sees everything and that’s the only thing that matters.” 

I know, I know, I’m such a killjoy mother. And, honestly, I don’t lecture the child regularly for simply being a six year old. However, I do firmly believe that some habits which are so cute in a child are ever so troubling in an adult. I try to focus on the end result as much as possible. 

After this little conversation I started thinking about the adults I do admire and the ones I don’t. Sometimes, for me, I find it hard to put my finger on why I am troubled by someone or the way they come across. Often this is, without a doubt, my issue and something I just need to deal with. Yet, there are consistent things about some individuals that strike me as wrong, on a recurring basis. I think it is often the need that some people have to point out that they are living their lives so neatly and making great choices...it’s this weird syndrome of fighting for morals and standards and a certain way of living that should fit everyone and every situation like a glove; like we are all supposed to be cookie cutter images of each other (if we are good) and that life is about trimming away any excess pieces of cookie dough that are outside the mould. 

I’ve come to distrust things that appear so straightforward. It seems to me that the hidden things are the most important. 

Everyone knows the story from the Bible of the Prodigal Son. The youngest son squanders his inheritance in debauchery and returns home in shame. The father welcomes him with tears and open arms. The often missed figure of the story, the one that is actually the central figure to me, is the older brother. He is angry that he has worked so hard and towed the line and, in his estimation, received nothing. That’s the whole point. The older brother might have lived a life of responsible and right choices but the hidden things were missing. He had a corrupt and jealous heart and in the end it was revealed. There is so system of “getting what you deserve”. There simply isn’t any fairness. Not this side of eternity. And, if you’re doing things the “right” way because you hope for blessing or security, you’re missing out on what you already have.

So I’ve started referring to these types of people as the “older brothers”. That helps me because I think in stories anyway. 

Which brings me to Jonathan. One of the things I admire most about my husband is that he is full of hidden things. Even when I was a girl and I’d visit his house I knew that he was overshadowed at times. Overlooked. I knew there was more there. When I visited and we were both teenagers I was angry with him because he was pushing all those hidden things away, at least it seemed to me. I think that’s what teenagers do though: they don’t allow a sign of weakness, and hidden things often look like weakness to some.  When we started dating and got married earlier this year I was thrilled to see all those things were still there and had been all along. He’s full of treasures. He doesn’t often tell people the things he does for others. He is content to grow in secret. He is at peace with not being noticed. He genuinely rejoices at other’s happiness and prosperity whether he enjoys those privileges or not. He thinks and reasons things out but he doesn’t hammer his opinions into other people, though he did go through a phase of that. He looks for the good in another person’s heart and gives them room to take the shape they need to take. No cookie cutters in our house. He’s not perfect at all. He’s done things he shouldn’t and he’s torn down fences he should have been building, but I would have been distrustful of a perfect man. He is full of all the hidden things; the things that mean the most. And even if, at times, no one else sees him, I do.