I never imagined any child would be more precious than my own. But after spending a few cuddle moments with my grandson I decided I should rethink. If you have experienced the feeling, no explanation is necessary; if not, there is no point in saying more.
One night I dreamed I was a child again. A long series of film clips played in living color one after the other. Visions of good times gone, never to return. I was gathered around the supper table where there were always good food, the best friends, and lots of laughter; after supper Dad would grab a glass of sweet tea and a catcher's mitt and we would head to the back yard to play pitch & toss until dark. He was never too tired.
Our family gatherings at my grandparents' house during Thanksgiving and Christmas were always magical times. Oh how I yearned to see those folks again! I recalled shopping marathons at Rich's with Mom where we would 'get caught up' on the latest family news. When I awoke I was exhausted, and . . . refreshed. And I wished I could have walked through the living room door, arms loaded with presents for everyone, and enjoy the sound of the voices now long silent. And savor the smells of the feast; and my birthday cake!
How unique we are, and our experiences, even in the same family, are one-of-a-kind. Perhaps we should take a mental journey into our history every now and then. Jesus could not have been clearer, saying that we must become like a child again if we hope to go home.
And so I began to connect the dots.
What was I really like when I was a child?
Once upon a time:
· What I imagined and said was completely innocent. I knew nothing for certain.
· I relied on ‘my creators’ (Mom & Dad) for everything.
· I knew everything was going to be OK. My creators told me so.
· I never imagined time fading away.
· I thought all my friends were loved like I was.
· I was filled with wonder and curiosity at everything and everyone.
· My creators comforted the pain and encouraged me in my disappointments
. . . and I didn't dwell on them.
· I feared my creators sometimes. When I knew I'd done wrong. But
Later, I learned how much they sacrificed for me. That hurt more than punishment.
· I never liked discipline; yet, it saved me from the terrible consequences of my mistakes.
· My creators fed, clothed, taught, protected, shared their wisdom and laughter. They gave me a family, a good name, told me I was special and that I belonged.
· I saw my creators act as a single unit—in agreement in whatever they did.
It made me believe I was strong and loved.
· I talked with my creators about everything; they gave good advice, undivided attention,
A safe place to come home; love, kindness, and complete acceptance.
Do you believe the Creator of everything means what he says . . .
About becoming a child again?
Me too.
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