My son is hanging from his high chair. He's turned himself around, pushed himself towards the ground,. His hands are still holding onto the arm rests of the hair chair. His legs are dangling. He's a couple of inches from touching the ground. He looks up at me, fear in his eyes, and says, “Momma, Momma, help.” It's kind of a humorous picture. His fear of something I can see so clearly is not a problem at all.     Then it hits me. This is what I must look like to God so much of the time. Doing something new, trying something out, unaware there's just a couple of…