Four Weeks

Four weeks.

28 days. 672 hours. 40,320 minutes. 2,419,200 seconds.

In four weeks, I will be on a plane. In four weeks, my island will be within sight.

There are so many things that I anticipate happening once we land on "The Unspoiled Queen". There are some definites.

Ting. I will drink my fill in Ting for thirteen days. For those unfamiliar, Ting is a Caribbean soda that will change your world. Imagine Fresca, but on steroids and 100 times better. When I am on Saba it's as though I have an addiction to the sparkling, green bottled goodness. It pairs wonderfully with a Johnny Cake. Johnny Cakes...those are definites too.

My name will be transformed to "Aleta". The "h" will be dropped and I won't mind it in the slightest. I also will revert back to a couple other titles. "Ms. Thomas"...others may call me "Teacher Thomas". Whatever I am called, I will smile and answer with joy in my heart.

I will sit and visit with a Spanish teacher in her classroom. I will have coffee with Ms. Lynne at The Busy Bee more than once. I will visit with friends in Upper Hell's Gate and sit around their table.  I will visit our friends in The Bottom and our kids will play together. I will be called to the principal's office. I will sit and visit with some beautiful, kind, and talented teenage girls.

Late one night when the day is done for most of the folks on the island, I will walk down the road to Well's Bay by flashlight. Peter will be with me. I will catch a land crab.

I will play kickball and dodgeball.

I will laugh...alot. I will cry too.

These are all things that I know for sure will be a part of my days on Saba in four weeks. But the things that excite me the most are the things that I do not know to expect. The surprises. The things that I can't even day dream about. The things that make one take a double take and stand in awe.

The things that only our Creator can orchestrate.

Coincidence and luck have nothing to do with any of it.

It's ALWAYS Him.

He has broken hearts. Provided redemption. Created bonds of friendship. Opened eyes and hearts like never before. He has healed wounds and allowed many to celebrate the scars. He has washed people in the waters.

He has used the craziest and most obscure modes and methods. His work has been done on a basketball court and during dodgeball games. His words have been shared over pasta, while fathers and daughters danced, and as dominoes were slammed onto a table. Some have encountered Him in the wee hours of the morning on a rooftop or in an empty parking lot. Others have met Him by the sea or on the road or in a gazebo in a park.

However He does it, whatever He uses, whereever He shows up...it's always the best. It's always beyond description. My words here can not even begin to do it justice.

My times on Saba always encourage my hope, strengthen my faith, and bring more love into my life that I can ever muster up to give away. I know the Father is getting my heart ready to serve, but He is also getting it ready to be turned and healed and filled. I need the island. I need time on Her shores with Her people. I am ready for Him to show up and show off on my five square miles.  He always does. That is a definite.

Four weeks.

Writings from The Three Kids

By the title of this blog, it's apparent that I am a very proud mother. I am proud of many things...their personalities, their laughter, their love and care for others, and for the most part...smile...their behavior.

I am also very proud of their school work. As someone who enjoys putting words down on paper, I have been so excited and proud to watch their growth in reading and writing over the past few months. This is thanks to some wonderful teachers, and an AWESOME English and Language Arts tutor. We love Ms. Shannon! 

So, this is kind of like the parent that pulls out the pictures from the wallet, or in this day and time, the parent that pulls up the pictures on their iPhone, and exclaims, "Just look at my kids!". I am not the writer, I am the parent. And I couldn't be any prouder! I gladly fill this blog post today, not with my own writing, but the writings of my three favorite people. It is more than an honor to share my space.

This is a free verse poem Jackson wrote for his 7th grade ELA teacher, Mr. Todd. It is complete with Jackson's autograph, just in case he is a famous poet one day.

This next piece was written a few months back by Nancy Caroline. She was asked to write a persuasion/opinion paper during the election by her 5th grade ELA teacher, Mr. Parker. I ask that you keep in mind that this was written by a sweet and kind 10-year old, with no help from an adult. This isn't shared to spark a political conversation, but to showcase her growth and abilities in writing.

A week in the Thomas house isn't complete without a love note from Sadie. So below, you will find one of the latest ones she left for me on my bedside table. Sadie is in 2nd grade and one of her favorite things to do is learn new things to impress her teacher, Mrs. Foster. After intently observing her brother and sister write in cursive, Sadie taught herself to write her name in cursive. She is pretty proud of her accomplishment!

The Run Away Pillow

You get three different mornings from the Thomas kids.

Jackson is the sleeping adolescent that only has to be called to from the top of the stairs. He gives a growl and groan, and then states all I need to know..."I'm up."

Nancy Caroline's light is glowing from the crack in her bedroom door as I wipe the sleep from my own eyes and stumble down the hall. She is  halfway to being ready before the rest of us take our first morning stretch.

Sadie. The tiniest of the three. The easy going, resourceful, joyful child. The one who does as she is told. The "go-with-the-flow" one. She is all of these things...EXCEPT in the morning when I wake her.

She hides her face. She grumbles and cries. She makes excuses. It takes at least five tries to get her up and moving.  Did I mention she cries, ALOT. I have unashamedly tried it all...bribes, scolding, gently coaxing, not-so-gently coaxing, pulling her out by her ankles. None of it works. So this week I thought, if you can't beat her, join her.

Tuesday morning, after waking the other two, I stood in Sadie's doorway looking at the little sleeping face that was peeping out from under a mound of covers. I quietly tiptoed toward her and raised the blankets and sheets just enough to slide in next to her. Her skin was warm and soft as she snuggled up next to me without opening her eyes in the slightest. As her head settled onto my chest, I was taken back to when I was just about her size.

I closed my own eyes and could see the popcorn ceiling of the little front corner bedroom I called mine for many years in my parents house. The tiniest bit of morning sunlight would sneak through the cracks in the shades and would cast the oddest shadows. The smells and sounds of breakfast at the hands of my mother, seemed not just a memory but almost within my grasp. And instead of holding a little girl, I was the little girl.

As Sadie's head moved up and down in rhythm to my breathing , I couldn't help but remember the way my head felt resting upon my dad's chest. And a memory I hadn't thought of in years came flooding back.

I had forgotten, but Sadie and I have something very much in common. I was the unwakable sleepy head in the Anderson house. The covers were too warm and cozy and I always needed a few extra minutes. So my father created a game.

He would come in and snuggle up with me, always with a kind and jovial voice. He'd talk about going back to sleep as well, and he for sure needed a good pillow. And that good pillow was me. He would find a place, whether it be my back or tummy or shoulder, and would rest his head.

"Oh that is just the best pillow. That feels so comfortable!"

And then he'd begin to "snore".

After a few fake logs were sawed, I'd giggle with excitement and wiggle out from under my "sleeping" daddy and take off running down the hallway, as he chased his run-away "pillow". The chase usually ended in the kitchen around the feet of my mother or into my assigned chair at the table. But it was sure to always end in a heap of laughter, from father and daughter alike.

Daddy succeeded many mornings getting his sleepy little daughter up and going with love and laughter.

My thoughts swirling around this memory this week...

One. Parents, meet your children with more creativity, love, laughter, and joy. Lord knows, the world already doesn't have enough of these things. Our children, who are just on loan to us from God, see anger, sadness, and harsh judgement on TV, out and about, and sometimes even at school. They don't need to see a hint of it at home. So my challenge to you, is to find ways to positively guide and lead your children even in the little things, like getting up and getting life done. Then when the tougher things come along as they get older, I guarantee they will come to you knowing they will be met with understanding and grace, instead of a heavy scolding, easy frustration, and unrealistic anger. And I ask that you keep me accountable, because I am preaching to the choir. This mom needs to tone it down a notch or two at times.

"Fathers, do not provoke your children,

or they will become discouraged."

Colossians 3:21

Two. Our Father doesn't pull us out of sin by our ankles or coax us with bribes. He creates a beautiful home for us. Gives us a way to feel safe and secure. Our Dad provides for us in every way. He gives us the gifts of love and laughter. He pursues us. And then, He gives us the ability to choose.

Open your eyes and heart to a God who wants to laugh and love with you. Give thanksgiving for His care, provision, and safety. Talk to Him. Listen to Him. Choose Him.

"For the Lord your God is living among you.
    He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
    With his love, he will calm all your fears.
    He will rejoice over you with joyful songs."

Zephaniah 3:17

This morning, Sadie made for a pretty cute and funny pillow. I can't wait to call my daddy and tell him the tradition is continuing. And I like to think God was laughing along with us as she ran down the hallway. I am pretty sure I heard Him in the laughter of the "run-away pillow" and her siblings.

Thoughts about the Country and World from the Past Few Months...To Post or Not-to Post?

You look at me and see a woman and you assume I am weak.

You look at me and see a white person and assume I consider myself privileged.

You look at me and see an American and assume I am idiotically arrogant.

You look at me and see a stay at home mom and assume I do not have value in a profession.

You look at me and see a physician's wife and assume "I have it made".

You look at me and see a believer in God and a Christian and assume I am judgmental or maybe ignorant.

Look at me and make your assumptions, but please do not assume that your words do not hurt. They do. And please know that the fact that you do not allow the time to let the knowledge of who I really am prove your assumptions wrong, hurts even deeper.

You may look different than me and think differently than me. You may believe completely opposite of me. You may value things that I don't value.

But I tell you this...I value you because you are a living, breathing fellow human. I value you no matter your age, race, or color. I value you no matter where you call home. I value you despite imperfections, mistakes, or challenges. I value you because you matter, no matter what.

I write this not because I have been offended or attacked personally.  I write this because many people I know have been offended and feel attacked, and that hurts me deeply.  I write this because we are all doing life wrong when we place our hopes, dreams, and trust in humans. We are doing life wrong when we call others stupid, fools, and much worse. We are doing life wrong when we use sarcasm, negativity, and hate. We are doing life wrong when we think our way of thinking is the only way of thinking.

One of our former First Ladies said something along these lines...

"Your success as a family... our success as a nation... depends not on what happens inside the White House, but on what happens inside your house." Barbara Bush

If you have issue with race relations, abortion, sex trafficking, hunger, immigration, or whatever touches your heart, start by talking about it at home. And make plans to just not talk about but to do something about it. Stop ranting and slandering and do something about the problems we face that keep you awake at night. What you do, it may be something small in the eyes of many, but as the smartest 10 year old I know says, "If we all do a little, it will make a lot!". It starts with us!

We have to start being thankful for the unique differences in each other. We need to learn to agree to disagree and get along in spite of our different views, opinions, and beliefs.

Somewhere along the way someone thought it would be a good idea to make a joke out of what someone else found important and liked. It started with something as simple as say the football team that you cheer for...then maybe the church one attends...then a choice someone made. And now we make fun, throw nasty words, and say hateful things, about everything, from the least to the greatest.

So let's start out small again. The next time that you decide to call the fans of a certain football team rednecks and idiots, take a moment to think if someone you love cheers for that team. The next time you want to throw out a joke about a certain religion, try to remember that someone that you love and respect probably practices that faith. The next time you curse another nationality, remember you may have good and kind friends that call that country home. And the next time you want to go on and on and on about how disgusted you are and how much you hate a said group of people because they have chosen something differently than you, go back to the golden rule and think about how you would want someone to treat you.

Because here's the deal. There's lots of things in this world that I think, and some things that I know, are not what God intended for us to be. I pray about these things. I've even been known to teach about some of these topics in Bible classes and in public settings. We should always speak truth and speak out against what is wrong. God desires us to follow Him, do what is right, and speak of and encourage that in others. Speak only on God-given truth and give guidance and advice and teach with love and compassion.

But the one thing I think that we've lost sight of is God intended for us to love others, even though we may disagree with them. And He gave us the ability and right to choose.  And the most simplest way to CHOOSE is to show love to someone is through your words. The words that you verbally speak to someone's face,  or perhaps behind their back (insert cringe here), and also the words that you quickly type onto a Facebook post, Instagram account, or a Tweet.

Some may pose the question, "Well what if you don't believe in God? What if that isn't your thing?"

First off, I'd love to sit down with you and tell you my story. It can speak for its self. Secondly, I think we all can do the following, no matter our spiritual beliefs. Before you make your assumptions, spew your words, and take your actions, I beg you to think on these things...

Is it kind? Is it respectful? Is it offensive and hurtful to someone who I love and who loves me? Is it just a preference or opinion? Is it teaching younger generations to disrespect? If the answer is "yes", I beg with you to STOP.

 Does it bring life or does it cause hate? If it causes anything but love, please STOP.

Are the beliefs and comments of someone else targeted at you? Just because someone thinks differently than you, does that mean that they are evil and hate you? Please STOP being so easily offended and START truly living the concept that we ALL have the right to our own opinions.

So I invite you...

Take a look at me, but please choose to look a bit deeper that the titles I carry. Look beyond the color and nationality that you see. Dig deep into the ideas, past experiences, and struggles that make me who I am. I want to know you and respect you and celebrate and love our differences and uniqueness. I want and expect the same from you. What we see in each other may not be as comfortable as what we would like it to be. We will not agree on everything. But I guarantee we can learn from one another if we decide not to assume and hate but to know and love and respect, despite it all.

A Little Room and An Apology

There is a room in the basement of my parents' house. It's a small room. It has two small windows, and a door that leads out into the den. Today it houses a computer atop a desk. Lining the walls are different stringed instruments, all which sound beautiful at the fingertips of my daddy. This time of year, this room begins to be the storage room for wrapped Christmas presents as they await their opening by the three kids and my nephew.

This room has changed quite a bit over the years. At one time, it was a bedroom. There was a twin bed in it. I can remember my Grandaddy sleeping many nights on that little bed when he and my Grandmother would visit. One morning we shared many laughs as he recounted his night of sleep, awaking to a  mouse cuddled on his pillow beside his little bald head. My mom made sure his bed fella was gone and disposed of by the end of day.

When I was a teenager this room was where I did homework. But as a preteen this room was adorned with New Kids on the Block paraphernalia. Posters from floor to ceiling, covered every inch. A sleeping bag and pillow with Jordan Knight's face laid on the floor. A "boombox" sat in the corner. Many nights I was told to turn down the music of the Hangin' Tough album. Pretty sure my parents were happy to have this phase behind us, as they cocked the thumb tack holes and painted over the tape marks on the walls.

But this room was magical when I was a little girl. It's where I was the doctor, the teacher, and the princess. It's where I rocked baby dolls and put them down for naps. In this room, Barbie met Ken. They married time and time again and filled "Cindy's World" with their families. In this room is where my older sister and I played and laughed and, as all siblings do, fought and argued over who played with what. She left this room before I did. I missed her.

She always took such good care of her toys and this room. The baby dolls were always dressed and clean. The Barbies had the latest fashions and their hair was styled perfectly. When she finished with a toy she put it back. "Cindy's World" was always in order, with the furniture arranged in the correct rooms, neat and tidy. The dishes in the play kitchen were always washed and stored and the fridge was stocked with all the appropriate items.

Enter Aletha.

I rearranged the Barbie furniture and misplaced the tiny fashionable shoes and clothes. And if I needed a haircut, so did Barbie. And Ken was prone to car accidents, which always produced bruising. Markers and crayons did the trick. Some dolls didn't fair that well; some were missing extremities. Baby dolls looked better in diapers and liked to play in the mud and ash pile in the back yard. Who needed pretend plastic food when you could use Elmer's glue for milk and hide half eaten apples in the tiny kitchen cabinets?  

It didn't take too long for my mother to catch on and take some action. These days she will pull out a couple of baby dolls to show the grandkids. Nancy Caroline and Sadie love to hold the dolls and play with them. They always giggle as their "Aunt Sissy" points out that their mom never played with those dolls. She tells them of my antics and how I could not be trusted, so momma hid these dolls and they are the only survivors.

Pretty much I was the female version of Andy's nemesis, Sid.

So dear sister, it's been a long time coming, but I want to say something to you. I owe this to you for wrecking so many of the toys you took such good care of for so many years...

I am sorry. And I am searching Ebay for that Barbie that had the kissing lips. I really have no idea why I ripped her lips off. 

And I know at this very moment you, the reader, more than likely are chuckling, thinking how silly and funny this all is. But as grown ups haven't we all been guilty of taking something great and messing it all up?

The Creator gives us a beautiful world in which to live and enjoy. We throw down our trash and pollute the air and water, without much thought at all. We waste our resources and live in excess. Why be happy with what you have when you can have more?  Even if it means a few less trees and others are going hungry.

Us Americans live in a country where we boast freedom and the right to speak, but yet we abuse these concepts. We develop the opinion that we are the elete ,that we have it all figured out. We scream our beliefs at each other like toddlers on a playground. We must state our thoughts on everything and everyone; we must be heard. We turn things like social media sites into an arena for arguing and fighting and bullying, instead of maybe what it could have been...a way for friends to stay connected and a mode to promote joy and love. 

Sex. Instead of keeping it special and intimate and private, it's turned into something funny and nasty and wrong.  We use it to sell products. We let it dominate our lives to the point that it's an addiction, a thirst that can't be quenched. It's by products are now pornography, prostitution, and slavery. We also have turned it into a political issue. It seems we have forgotten that God created everything, even sex. How it's treated today, what we've made of it...yeah, I am sure that is not what He intended it to look like.

We have really messed up Christianity. CHRIST-ianity. Jesus Christ. What did He look like? How did He behave? Do we resemble Him? He met people where they were. He became a friend. He held their hands and healed their wounds, both physically and emotionally. Today, many of us close off our circles, only interacting with those people that look and act like us. Many hatefully condemn others for wrongdoing and sins that they deem "greater" than their own. I think we forget that on many occasions we read the accounts of Jesus befriending others, extending love and kindness, and then simply saying, "Go, and sin no more."

We could talk about lots of things. Food, marriage and family life, freedom, school policies, and so much more. We could talk about how awful so many things have become at the hands of us humans. But what if we stop complaining, and get to work. Ever heard of a re-do? Ever heard of an apology?

There is great healing in the words "I am sorry". There is even greater healing in a change of action. Make an amends and start living differently.

Take care of this world. Pick up trash, reduce, and recycle.

Post one positive comment each day. Stay silent when you want to fire back. Instead of spending five minutes looking into someone else's business for the sake of being nosey, send a message to someone you miss. Respect other's opinions and beliefs.

Teach your children about how beautiful a thing sex is and God created it. Teach them the boundaries He gave us, and those boundaries are in order for us to have joy and be healthy. Pray for purity and peace for yourself and for so many that struggle in this matter.

Put the CHRIST back in Christianity. There is hope in anything when we start to resemble our namesake.

Whatever it is that you have had your part in messing up in this beautiful life...apologize in some way and start helping to fix it. If we all do that, what a wonderful world it would be!

Fall With My Favorites

I love the Fall. If there was one thing that I missed, other than family and friends, while we lived on Saba, it was the change of the seasons. We left Tennessee for our new Caribbean home in the middle of a Tennessee hot and humid Summer. August melted into September. September melted into October. Then October melted into November. No cooler temperatures. No crisp Autumn smell in the air. No football games to tailgate. No multi-colored trees. The true Tennessee Fall of 2001 is one of which I have no memory.

This time of year continues to be my favorite. My eyes love the changing tree colors.  My arms love the feel of my favorite sweatshirt. My nose loves the smells of campfires and toasted marshmallows. Football fills my Saturdays. Cups of hot coffee fill my hands throughout the day. And the knowledge that my Creator could only orchestrate such a miracle as the changing of the seasons fills my soul with comfort.

Through the years, this time of year has brought about new and different things for our little family. A few years ago in our church family, Michael and I were asked to consider teaching the college age class together one Fall. We accepted the challenge. And somehow in someway, it has become a tradition...Michael and Aletha Thomas teach the college class each Fall at the Woodbury Church of Christ. And somehow in someway, it has become one of my favorite things of the Fall. The people that fill and have filled this class are some of my favorites. (Go ahead and chuckle, college age friends.)

We've studied specific books of the Bible. We have read and studied the newest and latest from some of the best Christian authors. We've split and done guys and girls studies. We have served together and played together. We have laughed and cried together. But most importantly, we have grown closer to God together.

This Fall has been no different. Michael is leading the class and we are partnering with our friends, John and Amie, in facilitating "The White Board Bible Study". In the curriculum, we begin in the beginning, with Creation. And we march through the entire Bible, not just picking out certain people and stories to study, but fitting all the pieces together. This study teaches how the "stories" of the Bible are all part of God's big story. You can't have Abraham without having Noah. You can't have David without Ruth. You can't have Jesus without Adam.

This past Sunday we finished a section dedicated to the Exodus. So we have seen the story line of many famous Old Testament characters. Adam and Eve. Cain and Abel. Noah. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Joseph. The Children of Israel. Moses.

These folks have taught me wonderful Godly character traits through the years. True intimacy with the Father in Adam and Eve. The importance of worship in Abel. Dedication in Noah. Great faith in Abraham. Morality and forgiveness in Joseph. Courage in Moses.

But this go around...this Fall, in this college bible class...this almost 40-year old mom of three has seen things a bit different...

WHAT A HOT MESS!!!

Every single one! They by no means had any of this thing called life figured out. Alot of us today, think these times we are living in are the worst. I beg to differ.  These first generations we read about were far from perfect or G-rated. Things are bad, but that isn't new to God. It isn't new, but it still all makes Him sad.

They listened to satan. They murdered. Some could be called arrogant and prideful. You ever laughed at God in doubt? They did. They lied and deceived. Some of them sinned in anger, while others got drunk. They witnessed the greatest of miracles and actually heard the audible voice of God...and the next day they complained and looked around for other gods to fill His place.

Oh, but the hope this gives! God uses the roughest, the weakest, the nastiest alot of the times. No, let's be honest...He uses those types of folks all the time. I know this for sure because I have witnessed it. I am a product of it. You want a hot mess...look no further than this girl right here.

I have been the world's worst with impatience. I overcommit and let people down. I am prideful. I like to be in control. I have lost my temper. I have hurt the ones I love the most. I have said the wrong things. I have lied in order to not disappoint.

And then there are the big struggles. The ones I only trust to my inner circles, my accountability partners. The sins and struggles and burdens that carry heavy shame and fear and anxiety. We ALL have these. My encouragement to you in these matters, is to find your people. Find the ones you feel safe with, that can accept the flaws and extend more grace and love than disappointment and shock. Find the ones that can be open and honest in return with you. Find the ones that will weekly hold your hand and remind you to hold your eyes upward. Find the ones that will speak truth to you and gently lead you back when you get a little off course.

Secrecy is a dark and scary place. It isn't safe. Exploiting all of your junk and mess for all to see and know, or sharing it with the wrong, non-trustworthy person isn't safe either. God did not intend for us to walk this road alone. You know the verses...confess your sins ONE to ANOTHER...carry ANOTHER'S burdens. I encourage you to be private, not secret. There is a difference.

I am beyond grateful for and adore my people. They know who they are...friends and family. As a book I just finished reading put it, "Your mess is mine.", and vice versa.

So yeah, He didn't intend for us to walk all this mess alone. He gave us each other, and He also gave us people we can't tangibly touch or talk to, but He gave us their stories.

So when you mess up, when you tell the lie or you doubt. When you are envious or seek to have all the control. When you are angry with the discomfort of where God has placed you for the moment. When you struggle with lust and being faithful. When your mess is alcoholism, drug addiction, or the such. Remember Eve, Noah, and Abraham. Remember Moses and those impatient children of Israel. Remember Joseph and all the others.

God never gave up on these people, and He won't give up on us. If we follow Him and allow Him to, He won't only not give up on us, He will use us. Because the God of Adam, Noah, Abraham, and Moses...He is the same...He is our God too.

Let The Little Children Come

A lot of folks look at me a bit odd when I tell them that I learn just as much from the three kids as they learn from me. But it is so very true.

Nancy Caroline teaches me to notice the details, pay attention to the small things in life.  She teaches me to do everything I do 150%...because that is what she does. One of my favorite things I have learned from her as of late is worry and fear are choices you make. These things can be overcome. This child is wise beyond her years.

Sadie teaches me to be silly, even in the most serious of situations. Being silly is good for the soul.  She also teaches me to just “be” sometimes. She is resourceful…fiercely resourceful. I learn independence from her. I have no doubt that this little girl will grow to be an independent, strong, confident woman.

I have been learning from Jackson the longest, of course. Determination, bravery, and overcoming obstacles…Jackson excels at these things. He has always taught me not to take myself so seriously. And his laugh makes anyone realize that laughter is a necessity, not an option.

As their mother, I have stored specific teachable moments from them in my heart and my memory recalls them often. In the last few weeks, a little lesson I learned from Jackson has been playing over and over in my mind and heart.

The City of Children is an orphanage for children in Baja, Mexico. It is based on love of God and the love of children. It is a beautiful place with so many beautiful children.  Michael and I both traveled there as college students and continued to visit together after we married. It was only natural to take Jackson there shortly after he was born.

On his first trip to The City, he and I joined a group out of Nashville. Michael stayed behind, immersed in rotations and medical books. Jackson was a hit! The children loved the fair skinned five month bundle of fun. The little girls liked to push his stroller. The little boys gave him soccer balls to hold.  The children Michael and I had watched grow up, now loved on our little one as we had loved on them.

On this specific trip we not only had work to do inside the orphanage walls, but we also traveled outside into rural areas to fill needs of folks that were struggling. One day of our trip was spent shopping for groceries at a local store and then traveling to give some relief in the form of food. Rice, beans, tortillas, fruit…all in the name of Jesus.

Our team would pile out of the van and grab the food and then head into the house to meet with the family and pray. We met dads and moms, single mothers, and lots of kids. They were thankful and prayerful. And they all were fascinated by Baby Jackson.

I held tight to my baby boy, knowing he was safe in my arms. There was a fear. Looking back now I don’t really understand of what I was afraid. Maybe I was afraid he would fall onto the rough Mexico loose dirt walkways. Maybe I was afraid of a foreign germ. Maybe it was just the unfamiliar. Maybe it was just being a mom.

We stood outside one home that seemed to be filled with a dozen kids. It was a small makeshift house that I was pretty sure didn’t have electricity or plumbing. I remember wondering how they all slept in such a small space.

One by one the kids began to gather round me, reaching to touch Jackson’s cheeks and hands and chunky little legs. I began to panic. Their little hands were dust and dirt covered, some having snotty noses and matted hair.  They asked to hold him, to which I immediately made excuses as to why they couldn’t. I held onto him even tighter, keeping him perfectly perched high on my hip.

Then a dusty, tanned, dark eyed little girl came over with a soft little smile. To this day I can still vividly see her face. She didn’t say a word, but just reached out her arms, breaking the language barrier by a gesture that was undeniable.

“Come to me. Let me hold you.”

I tightened, but at the same time Jackson plunged his little arms into hers. He grabbed onto her and giggled with excitement. Being humbled by son, I let go and watched as the little girl bounced him on her hip and talked to him in a language that made him gaze at her with curiosity.She kissed his check as he returned the favor.  At six months old, Jackson was wiser and more accepting and loving than his mother. I watched carefully and learned the most beautiful lesson from my baby boy.

In three of the four gospels, we find Jesus teaching and preaching. Some parents show up, bringing their kids to meet Jesus. They hoped He would pray for them and lay His hands on the children. That’s when the disciples called a time out. I can just hear the scolding…

“Don’t you dare bother Him! Don’t you know He is the Messiah! He doesn’t have time for these children!”

The parents must have been so embarrassed. Some were probably livid for how they had been spoken to by these followers of Christ. But can you imagine the disappointment and hurt in the children’s eyes as they began to back up and walk away, untouched, unprayed for, unloved?

“Let the little children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.”

Oh the joy that must have been present between Jesus and those kids as they were allowed to run into His arms! I bet they climbed onto His lap, thrilled just be with their Lord. We have a lot to learn…

Jesus wasn’t afraid of the dust. He wasn’t disgusted by the snotty noses and matted hair. He extended His arms and an invitation.

I am pretty sure God wants us to go into any situation willing to learn, but not always eager to teach. We should pass no judgment, we shouldn’t be too busy, but we should love unconditionally.

We better get busy opening our doors, freeing up a little extra time, and start inviting the little ones, no matter what they look like or where they come from, to “come to Him”.  

This can look lots of different ways.  It might even be as simple as saying a kind word or explaining something in a calm and loving manner. Maybe it’s volunteering at a local school. It could look like pulling a child on your lap when no one else will. You could give up a few hours to help with homework, do a service project, and play a few games. It could look like attending a football game, finding a common ground, or sitting down to a bible study. This could be as big as taking someone as your own.

The way I see it, the only way the little children can come to Jesus today is through us.