My least favorite thing to do on Sundays is wearing a pink apron. It feels awkward. And too big. It makes me feel like a grown adult. Having someone to take care of.
Despite these misgivings, I wear it to earn what I call the five “trust” points. Wearing that pink apron is the very first step of earning one of those “trust” points from the toddlers. It confirms that I am a volunteer at the Toddler Ministry Department. In other words, a person who keeps them safe.
The next “trust” point is earned when I eliminate all possible pronouns from my sentence, then fill that space with their names instead. The moment I say, “Where is ‘Kacey’s water bottle’?” rather than “your water bottle,” I am part of their world—a world where they are the queen, the sun, the center of the universe.
The third “trust” point comes from being at the end of the Qaba Caterpillar Tunnel! When they see my broad smile through that dark tunnel as a sign of safety, that means they trust me. They trust that I will reach out my hand as much as possible to hold them tight before they get lost in the tunnel, fall off a cliff, or get stuck in the mud.
If that tiny hand reaches up towards my hand, that’s when I earn my fourth “trust” point.
The last “trust” point is silence. When the silence does not feel heavy but rather gently sits on us, it becomes a relationship that no longer needs any proof of validation or what I call the “trust” points.
This avalanche of “trust” points later becomes a little “knock-knock” at the door, opening their comfort zone. Soon, they will leave their parents' hands, then grab my hand with one hand and explore the room with another.
Yet, to some of them, it can feel like a sledgehammer rather than a gentle knock.
“I am worried about my kid. She’s already the oldest from this ministry, but she still acts like a baby,” said Kacey’s parent in a voice filled with worry. She was right. Kacey acted like a baby–not being able to bear a single moment of separation from her mom.
Obviously, it was difficult to earn her five “trust” points.
So, I tried all the other basic things: giving snacks, complimenting her clothes, shoes, sock colors, asking how many siblings she has, and more. It didn’t work.
During snack time, Kacey accidentally spilled her water on the table. Immediately, my hands went to the pockets in my pink apron to search for a napkin. As I pulled out the napkin, my lip gloss fell on the floor. A peculiar thing happened a couple minutes later. Kacey picked up that lip gloss and started drawing a heart on the back of her small hand.
I complimented her red, “little” heart. Then, I pulled up my sleeves to let her draw another heart on the back of my hand. This time, she drew a “big” heart. That’s when I sensed, “I earned her ‘trust’ point!”
The “trust” points are like fingerprints. A “little” heart grows into a “big” heart in a unique moment at a different speed for every toddler. There is no exception.
To me, the “trust” points are like a cryptic password before they let me enter their world. Beyond the room where I wear my pink apron, there are people with millions of “trust” points, while some with few.
I want to earn those “trust” points. To grab the hand that is tightly holding their comfort. And letting the other hand grab a new comfort.
Every Sunday, I fill my pocket with new napkins, new responsibilities, and the lip gloss. That’s when my pink apron earned my “trust” point. I like my pink apron. It fits me.
