Allow me to share a story I read some time ago. It is a
compelling tale told by a young wife and mother, concerning something
completely extraordinary, incomprehensible and priceless: the unconditional
love of a young baby. It will challenge both the quantity and
quality of our love!
We were the only family with children in the
restaurant. I sat Eric in a high chair and noticed everyone was
quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Eric squealed with glee and
shouted, “HI!” He pounded his fat baby hands on the highchair tray. His
eyes were wide open with excitement and his mouth displayed a huge toothless
grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment.
I looked around and was totally surprised to see the source of Eric’s
joy. It was an old man whose pants were baggy, his zipper at
half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was
filthy and his hair looked unwashed and uncombed. His whiskers were
too short to be called a beard and his nose had so many varicose veins that it
looked like a road map. We were too far from him to catch a whiff…but
I was totally sure that he smelled very bad! He was just sitting
there, hands waving and flapping like Jell-O, completely holding the attention
of my beautiful baby!
“Hey there baby…hi there big boy! I see ya’ buster,” the
man called out ever so gently to Eric. My husband and I exchanged
looks and whispered, “What should we do?” Our adorable baby boy,
Eric, continued to laugh and answer this disheveled man,
“Hi! Hi! Hi!” We were completely
flabbergasted. Everyone in the restaurant seemed to notice and glanced
over at us sympathetically, then looking with disgust at ‘that
man.’ Their eyes seemed to say, ‘That old geezer has some nerve,
creating a public nuisance with such a handsome baby!’ As our meal
came, the man kept calling to Eric across the room, “Do you know patty
cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Look at that smart boy…he
knows peek-a-boo!”
Nobody thought any of this was cute. He was obviously
drunk and dirty. My husband and I felt shaken and
embarrassed. We ate in silence, except for Eric, who was now running
through his repertoire of the things-he-could-do to gain more admiration and
attention from this skid-row bum, who in turn reciprocated with his annoying
comments. We hurried through our meal so we could head for the door. My
husband went to pay the check and asked me to meet him in the parking lot.
The old ragged man sat positioned between me and the
door. “Lord,” I thought, “if you can just let me get out of here
before he speaks to Eric or me.” As I drew closer to the door…closer
to the man…I turned my back, trying to side-step him and, by all means, avoid
any body odor or air he might be exhaling. As I did this, Eric
suddenly leaped over my arm, reaching out with both arms in a baby’s
‘pick-me-up’ position. Before I could stop him, Eric had propelled
himself from my arms, right into the man’s arms.
Immediately, this very old smelly man and my young beautiful baby
consummated their growing love relationship. In an act of total
trust, love and submission, Eric laid his tiny head upon the man’s shoulders. The
aged homeless man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears rolling down his
face. His time worn hands, that looked to be loaded with grime and
pain, gently (so gently) cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked my baby’s back.
Watching this union, I felt sure that no two human beings had every
loved so deeply in such a time frame. I stood there…paralyzed and
awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Eric in his arms for a
moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said
in a firm, sober and commanding voice, “You take care of this special baby.” Somehow,
I managed to squeeze “I will” from my constricted throat, which at the moment felt
full of stones. Then he pried Eric from his chest, unwillingly,
longingly, as though he was in actual pain.
I happily received my baby as the man whispered, “God bless you,
Ma’am, you’ve given me my Christmas gift.” I said nothing more and
raced toward the car, holding Eric close to me. My husband wondered
why I was holding on to Eric so tightly, crying and mumbling, “My God, my God,
forgive me.” For I had just witnessed Christ’s love, shown through
the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin and made no judgments, a child who
saw a living and loving soul, and a mother who had only seen unwashed and raggedy
clothes. I was a Christian who was totally blind, holding a baby who
could clearly see. And I felt as if God, Himself, was asking – “Are
you willing to share your son for a moment?” – because HE had shared HIS SON
for all time and eternity. That homeless old man and my son reminded
me, unwittingly, that “To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little
children.” (Matthew 18:3) Stay tuned…more
to come tomorrow!
Sisters and brothers, be continually blessed, and please (above all
else) MAKE SURE YOU ARE READY TO MEET OUR SOON COMING KING. Maranatha!
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