Sometimes it takes a child to remind us...

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was 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 were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.
I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose 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.'
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 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 sidestep 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.
Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very 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 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, 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 and 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, lovingly and 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 ofGod , we must become as little children.'
Story shared by - Ericka M. Ernst

'The Hands of Time'

My Dad sent me a message the other day and it's cavorted through my mind, wearing ballet shoes, every since I read it. The type of message that makes you sit up and take notice. So I've been studying my hands, as well as those of others, unobtrusively on the sly.
God gave most of us two of'em. Have you ever really looked at them? They tell a lot about us. Of course, they've changed over the years, according to our deeds and the years we've embraced life.
Take a moment...look closely at your hands. Turn them over, open and close them...feel them.Think of all they've done for you.
I don't know from where the story originated, but I'll point out a few things the story told:
Your hands braced and caught your fall when you were a toddler.
They put food in your mouth and clothes on your back.
Hopefully, you've folded them in many prayers.
Hopefully, you've lifted them to God.
They've tied your shoes or helped pull on your boots.
They've wiped your tears.
If you were a soldier, they've held a rifle in war.
Why, they've been dirty, scratched, scraped, stung, swollen and bent.
They were probably a bit clumsy when you held your first newborn.
We decorate them with rings of friendship and love.
They've wrote letters.
They've lovingly stroked another.
They've trembled when you've lost a loved one.
They've extended to help another.
They've shook hands and touched others.
They've balled in fists of anger.
They've washed your face and the rest of your body.
They've combed your hair.
They've steered a car, or perhaps even a plow or lawn mower.
They hold you up and lay you down.
They show the marks of where you've been and reveal the ruggedness of your life.
But here's the winner...it will be your hands that God will reach out and take when He leads us home. He'll lift us to His side and with these hands we'll be able to touch the face of Jesus. Then it will be God's hands that caress us.
Fold your hands right now and say a prayer of gratitude. Feel the power of life pulsing through them. Amazing, isn't it?