Peter’s at a tough age.

That age is called “three.”

He is a kind, sweet, sensitive, thoughtful, empathetic, loving little boy who sometimes finds himself stuffed to the brim with the wild, crackling variety of lightning that belongs to three-year-old boys who have barely seen the outside world for a month because the sun is so hot it could melt styrofoam.

His current preferred method of releasing this lightning is by contorting his body into a wide-eyed, comically rigid pose, pressing his head against whoever’s nearby, clenching his teeth and spouting the kind of gibberish that would leave a devout Pentecostal scratching their head in confusion.

“HurgamurnurdodoDODORRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGH!” he tells me, and generally we both understand this to mean, “Three is really weird, dad.”

I am also, generally, inclined to agree.

His other favorite thing to do right now is cuddle Mary. And that’s the dichotomy of our little three-year-old boy—this wild, perpetually moving force of nature who really wants few things more than to cuddle up with his mama and be still.

* * *

A week ago, Peter was struggling.

The deck was stacked against him. COVID’s been working its way through our house for a couple weeks now, so someone’s always been sick. No one’s been 100 percent. It’s been too hot to do anything outside for more than a few minutes at a time. No space to run, no space to jump, no space to shout, no space to be a three-year-old boy.

He was stuck in a tiny little box of a house with no recourse but striking his pose and shouting “hurgamurnurdodoDODORRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGH!”

Besides, the poor guy just isn’t developmentally at a point where he can reliably get a handle on his constant waves of big emotions. His sister lived in that phase for a while, and I’m sure his little brother will do the same. (Hey, if we’re being honest, there are some grown adults who still live in that phase.)

On this particular day, it was starting to get him into trouble. He kept pushing the envelope just a little too far—running right up to all sorts of boundary lines and seeing how far he could sneak his foot across. He was feeling—and going—a little wild.

That all changed just before dinnertime.

We didn’t find the magic bit of encouragement or consequence to spur him onto some transformative change. No—all that happened was that he and Mary managed to sneak off for a few minutes, away from the other two forces of nature he calls siblings, away from the chaos of the day—and spend a few minutes cuddling.

It didn’t solve every problem. It didn’t perfectly equip him to handle every difficulty for the rest of the night—but boy, did it take the edge off.

His whirlwind of energy was a little less whirly.

His wide-eyed stare was a little less intense.

Even his shouts of “hurgamurnurdodoDODORRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGH” were a little less hurgamurnurdodoDODORRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHly.

All of a sudden, it was a whole lot easier to see the sweet, thoughtful, empathetic, kindhearted little boy living in the eye of the storm. And all it took was a little cuddling.

* * *

Sometimes, we wind up with the spiritual equivalent of all that three-year-old lightning Peter carries with him. And sometimes, the inconveniences and misfortunes start piling up around us until we’re just as on edge.

It’s not fun. It’s draining, exhausting—and it’s hard to know how to shut it off.

If you’re like me, you want a game plan. Five definitive action steps to take to turn things around.

But sometimes it’s not about that.

Sometimes there aren’t five definitive action steps.

Sometimes you just need to take a minute to be close to God.

When we’re feeling spiritually squirrelly—jumpy, agitated, desperate to give the world around us a good old-fashioned “hurgamurnurdodoDODORRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGH!”—when we’re wondering, like David did, “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?” (Psalm 43:5)—then the best thing we can do is stop and remember what our soul really needs.

O God, You are my God;
Early will I seek You;
My soul thirsts for You;
My flesh longs for You
In a dry and thirsty land
Where there is no water. …

You have been my help,
Therefore in the shadow of Your wings I will rejoice.
My soul follows close behind You;
Your right hand upholds me.

(Psalm 63:1, 7-8)

Sit with God a minute and see what happens.

It won’t always fix everything, but it’s a great place to start.