December 2022 Mobile Monthly Mission

Copyright 2022 Kat Silverglate

Our 18-month-old granddaughter communicates as frequently with sign language as she does with audible words. Not because she has a hearing deficit, but because her parents wanted to open as many avenues to early communication as they could.

Walking in the park, she rubs her chest in a circle [the sign for please], points to a swing and then points to me. “Please can we swing,” she’s asking. Earlier that day at a food truck, barely beyond the first bite of her burrito, a dog walks toward the vendor. Down goes the nourishment and up go her hands, twisting rhythmically left and right in unison. “I’m done,” she’s signing. When she points to the dog with one hand and rubs her chest in a circle with the other, I understand clearly. “I’d much rather pet that dog than finish my food. Please can I go?”

My sign language vocabulary isn’t nearly as sophisticated as hers, so I verbally respond: “as soon as we finish eating we’ll pet the dog.” She gobbles down her meal like she’s about to start a 40-day fast, frantically wiggles both hands left and right, rubs her chest, then points to the dog. “I’m done! Please can I pat the dog now?”

I delight as I watch her do all she can to help others understand her. But there is one sign in her arsenal that makes me cry; one that she tends to use when deeper things stir her heart. It’s the sign for “more” and it looks like this. Make two O’s with your hands by touching the tip of your thumbs to the tips of your four fingers. Then flatten each “O” a little so your hands look more like two bird beaks than circles. Now tap the two beaks together a few times at the tips so the birds appear to be kissing. That’s American Sign Language for more.

The first time this motion brought me to tears was during an evening Facetime call. We live in different states, so the idea was to have some calm before bed; read a story, sing a soothing song and then say night-night. Things were going well until we noticed her tapping her bird beaks together, gently at first and then with increasing urgency as the lullaby came to an end. It wasn’t sleep avoidance either. It seemed to dawn on her at some point that the end of the music meant the end of the call. And the end of the call meant we couldn’t see or hear each other.   

It happened again on a recent visit. She had no idea that the car ride on day five would end at the airport where I’d get out and she’d stay in her car seat. When we rolled to a stop at the airport and I whispered “I’m going to see you in a week sweet girl. I love you,” she shook her head no, started to make the more motion with her hands and let out the saddest cry. It was as if she was saying, “if I can’t see you, that means there won’t be more.”

Swiss psychologist Jean Piaget (1896-1980) spoke of this developmental stage in children as object permanence. Before permanence takes hold, an object seems to cease to exist entirely when it can’t be seen or heard. When food falls off a high chair and someone picks it up and brings it back into the view of the child, they begin to learn constancy -- the constancy of existence beyond physical sight. When a parent leaves a room and comes back repeatedly, an inner belief replaces the need for sight assurance.

The Scriptures tell us that the Lord showed up in the flesh. Touched people miraculously. Told them of His glory. And then tells His disciples a confusing truth. I’m guessing it’s similar to the confusion my granddaughter feels when I tell her I’m leaving but I’ll see her again:

“[i]n a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me.”

John 16:16. 

He tells them this will cause them grief (John 16:20) but that there’s more. Beyond grief. Much more. Nobody will be able to take away their joy when they experience His risen presence this side of heaven (John 16:22), his Spirit will come to actively dwell in their daily lives (John 14:16), and they won’t be able to shut up about it. (Acts 1:8).

They can’t. And they don’t! They spend their lives talking about the more.

Here we are at the end of another year in His presence! Even in our hardest years, often in our darkest years, we are renewed by reflecting on every moment where we or another experienced peace, hope, patience, kindness, love, conviction, forgiveness, comfort, transformation, healing and the things of God. Our faith grows in that process. We become excited again for the more to come. We push our bird-beaked hands together with joy.

We invite more. Want more. Expect more.

So our mission this month is simple. In your mission pack you will find five transparent sticky notes in the shape of pencils and three postcards. Reflect on your year. Write down everything you can remember about God’s presence in your life and in the lives of those around you. At the end of each week, invite your family, your friends, your group, your peeps to share their growing list.

You will think you are done at the end of week one, but there is always more. Ask Him to help you remember more. Write these dates on those pencils: 12/3, 12/10, 12/17, 12/24 and 12/31. Don’t let the weeks end without doing at least one MORE-reflection with others.

On those post cards, consider sharing some of your MOREs. Perhaps someone needs to know that THEY were the Lord’s hands and feet. That He worked through them to reach you... MORE!

Share Your Story:

We would LOVE to hear your story this month! Feel free to “Donate a Story” on our donation page. Your story donations come to us in a simple email format, not posted to this website.

Let's Pray:

Lord, show us MORE! Remind us of your constancy in 2022. Of Your constant presence, love, kindness, goodness, pursuit, provision. Bring it back to us like a flood. Sweep us off our feet. Gives us a perspective that we can't have without YOU. Bring us together with others to celebrate MORE. To remember MORE. To invite MORE.

Amen? Amen!