Wisdom in Legos?

Over the past year Wilson has become Lego-obsessed. It is just about all that occupies his seven year-old mind and it's all he wants to spend his time and money on. A couple of months ago he was upset because he couldn't build one of the sets, as he had lost a crucial piece. In my mind I pictured a good-sized Lego brick, and cheerfully encouraged him to "look again". He melted into wails and sobs and said that it wasn't ANYWHERE to be found. In true busy Mommy form, I assured him that everything would be okay, and that maybe he could work on a different set until the universe was restored to it's true order, and the missing piece surfaced. He kept looking and trying to get everyone to understand how important it was. I couldn't believe that something so important wouldn't be easy to spot.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago. I was vacuuming our basement and something clicked up into the vacuum filter. I took it out, sifted through all the junk and saw a little tiny black plastic thing. That's all it was to me--a little thing. I almost tossed it into the garbage can when I had a thought that just maybe this was important. I asked Wilson if he had any use for it and when he looked into my open hand he screamed like you cannot imagine. He jumped up and down and hugged me and danced and screamed some more and I swear to you, he almost cried from joy. It was the missing piece.

Now, why am I telling you this, and why did I think to snap a photo of the golden moment? I don't know. I have had this nagging feeling ever since that happened that this is important. I do know that it has made me think more than once of the scripture in the Book of Mormon that says, "...by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise." Now I am not one to read a lot into every life detail; I try to stick to the basics, but I do believe that Wilson and his microscopic Lego piece have taught me a few lessons.

I have thought of the words in the book of Luke. "What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?" Sometimes I have felt that I am too insignificant for a God to notice; that my problems are too boring and annoying for Him, let alone a mortal, to be sympathetic. But this scripture reminds me that even the one straggler (or is it a wanderer?) is missed.

This little Lego incident tells me that if my young son has literally thousands of tiny pieces of Lego bricks and just one of them gone missing wrecks his world, then certainly, a loving Father in Heaven who created this Earth and everything and everyone in it, knows who I am, knows exactly where I fit in, and what I am worth. And I have to laugh when I think that the lost Lego piece was completely nondescript. There are many pieces in Wilson's collection that are neon green, shiny red and have moving parts. This one, as you can see, was nothing to shout about...except to Wilson, who knew it's worth.

I love what Sheri Dew said, "None of us come to this earth to gain our worth; we brought it with us." Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes, when I meet women who seem to have accomplished so much more than I have, who are raising wonderful little kids at the same time they are writing their dissertations, running ultra marathons and cooking fabulous organic meals for their families on a daily basis, I get depressed. I start feeling like I am sooo blah. Like I'm not significant.

So maybe Wilson and his little tiny Lego piece have taught me to think beyond those boundaries. Maybe he has reminded me that Heavenly Father is more than just keeping tabs on me and my whereabouts, spiritually and otherwise. And maybe I have been taught that I can return that favor, and never think blah thoughts about anyone else, either. That is the example the Savior has given. And I guess if Wilson can be over the moon about this little piece of plastic then I can believe in the worth of souls. Including my own.

Thanks, Wils!