
We were the only family with children in the
restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed
everyone was quietly eating and talking.
Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, "Hi
there." He pounded his fat baby hands on the
high-chair tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and
his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and
giggled with merriment.
I looked around and saw the source of his merriment.
It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat; dirty, greasy
and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast
and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was
dirty and his hair was 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 smell, but I was sure 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. My husband and I exchanged looks,
"What do we do?" Erik continued to laugh and
answer, "Hi, hi there."
Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us
and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a
nuisance with my beautiful baby.
Our meal came and the man began shouting from across
the room, "Do ya know 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 embarrassed. We ate in
silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his
repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn,
reciprocated with his cute comments.
We finally got through the meal and headed for the
door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to
meet him in the parking lot.
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 side step him and avoid any air he might be breathing.
As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching 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's. Suddenly a very old smelly man
and a very young baby consummated their love
relationship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and
submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged
shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover
beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain,
and hard labor-gently, so gently, cradled my baby's
bottom and stroked his back.
No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a
time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled
Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened
and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding
voice, "You take care of this baby."
Somehow I managed, "I will," from a throat
that contained a stone. He pried Erik from his
chest-unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain.
I received my baby, and the man said, "God bless
you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift."
I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik
in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering
why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I
was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me."
I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the
innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no
judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a
suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding
a child who was not. I felt it was God asking-"Are
you willing to share your son for a moment?" -- when
He shared His for all eternity.
The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me,
"To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as
little children."
If this has blessed you, please bless others by
sending it on.
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