This is a first-person account from a mother about her family as they ate dinner on Christmas Day in a small restaurant many miles from their home. Nancy, the mother, relates:
We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a highchair and noticed everyone was quietly sitting and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi!” He pounded his fat, baby hands on the highchair 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 his zipper at half-mast, and his toes poking out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed, unkempt and unwashed. His whiskers were too long to be stubble and too short to be called a beard. His nose was red, and so covered in varicose veins that 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 that said, “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 totally embarrassed. We ate in silence—all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire of charm 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. But, the old man sat between me and the door. I prayed, “O Lord, just let me get out of here before he speaks to me or Erik.” 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 up in a baby’s “pick-me-up” position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself out of my arms and into the man’s. Suddenly, a very old, smelly man and a very young, smelly 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 in so short a time.
I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms.
His eyes opened, and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm, commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.” Somehow I managed to get out an “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 had been God asking me, “Are you willing to share your son for a moment?” when He shared His Son for all eternity. The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, “To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children.”
I wonder if the baby in this story might be Jesus, who with joy has room in his heart to love even a smelly, homeless person. Wouldn’t Jesus be charming and disarming—touching people’s hearts in a way that opened them up, like this guy in the restaurant? Ah! Perhaps Christmas is the story of Jesus, propelling himself into the world, with joy making room in His life to love even a sometimes smelly, embarrassing person like me—like you! Why would this perfect, loving child launch himself into my arms—or yours? I don’t know. But that is grace! Jesus loving us before we can deserve it.
What I want to suggest to you and me tonight, is that at our best, we walk through this world, holding the love of Jesus like this baby. And when we meet someone, Jesus longs to launch himself into their lives, if they will receive Him. Sadly, more often than not, you and I are a lot like the narrator in our story, embarrassed by Jesus’ joy in living, and His openness and acceptance of other people. How often do we decide we would hold Jesus back from someone, not make a scene, not share with that person—judging them by their clothes, habits, culture, or color. The question is not whether Jesus loves us, or the other person, but whether we will love with the same love and trust. Tonight, we get a chance to ask ourselves again, with more love and joy from Jesus than we can hold, will we make room for Him and for each other?
Merry Christmas!