I received the following story in an email several days ago and it deeply touched my heart. I pray that as you read it, it will touch yours as well. I don’t know who the author is and if anyone does, please let me know so I can give proper credit.

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed all the other customers were quietly sitting and talking.

Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi!” He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.

I looked around and, with dismay, found the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants were dirty and baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty, his hair uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to tell, but there was no doubt in my mind he smelled.

His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. “Hi there, baby.” “Hi there, big boy.” “I see ya, buster.”, the man said to Erik. Erik continued to laugh answering, ‘Hi.’

Wanting to sink lower into our seats, my husband and I exchanged looks, “What do we do?”

Everyone in the restaurant noticed; they looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Finally, our meal came and we hoped, with the distraction of food, the exchange would stop.

It was not to be. The man began shouting from across the room, “Do ya patty cake?”, “Do you know peek-a-boo?”, “Hey, look, he knows peek- a-boo!” Nobody thought the old man was cute; he was obviously drunk. My husband and I were obviously embarrassed.

We ate in silence, except for Erik, who continued his usually adorable repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, innocently encouraging the old man to continue with his loud comments.

We managed to get through the meal and quickly headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check, telling me to meet him in the parking lot. Uh-oh – the old man sat poised between me and the door.

“Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I prayed.

As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching for the bum with both arms in a baby’s ‘pick-me-up’ position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man.

Immediately, a very smelly old man and a young baby consummated their love and kinship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man’s dirty, ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hovering beneath his lashes.

His aged hands, full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby’s bottom and gently stroked his back. I stood awestruck watching the old man, eyes closed, rock and cradle my baby in his arms.

His eyes opened and fixed squarely on mine. In a firm commanding voice he said, “You take care of this baby.” Somehow, from a throat that contained a stone, I managed to reply, “I will.”

Obviously, not wanting the moment to end, he pried Erik from his chest, lovingly and longingly, as though it caused him pain. As I received my baby the old man said, “God bless you, ma’am; you’ve given me my Christmas gift.”

I could barely choke out a muttered “thanks”.

With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car crying and holding my baby tightly. Understandably confused, my husband wondered why I was crying and saying, “My God, my God, forgive me!”

I had just witnessed Christ’s love shown through the innocence of a tiny child – a child who saw no sin, who made no judgment, who didn’t see the dirty ragged clothes – Erik saw the man’s heart.

I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not.

I felt God asking, “Are you willing to share your son for a moment?”, when He shared His for all eternity.

Unwittingly, the dirty, drunk and ragged old man had vividly illustrated, “To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children.”

Sometimes, it takes a child to remind us of what is really important. It’s not the clothes on our back or the car that we drive or the house that we live in that defines who we are. It is what is in our heart that identifies who we are and how we treat our fellow man reveals our identity.

If this has blessed you, please bless others by sending it on.

May God bless you by giving you many opportunities to give others a Christmas gift like Erik’s.

Sue

This entry was posted on Monday, December 3rd, 2007 at 7:41 am and is filed under Life Lessons. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.