Last spring, a friend of mine asked me to pick up her son from school and take him home.
Her son, who for the sake of this story I will refer to as “J” I have known from before he was born. I saw him in the eyes of my friend when we were teenagers as she dreamt of the day she had a family of her own. When “J” was born, I remember the weekend I first met him. In time, I witnessed his coming of age, and rejoiced in his Baptism.
I once was asked to babysit “J” one night, and I was fearful of being alone with a baby because I had limited experience. I was entrusted with his care, and through immaturity walked through the night with a dose of fear. When I was relaxing after putting him to bed, I suddenly became fearful as I heard him cry from his crib.
After waiting about ten minutes thinking this would pass, to no avail, I went into his bedroom. “J” was in his crib, and the moment I opened the door, his crying ceased. I picked him up, and the love I felt in my heart melted me. As his eyes were pools of tears slowly drying, I was overcome by the way his eyes looked so deeply into mine. His tears were transferred into my heart as I felt it slowly melt before us both.
I whispered to him that all was well, and he was safe, and within moments, he trusted me to lay him back down as he gently went to sleep.
Years later, the bond that marked us together only grew stronger.
His parents asked me to pick him up from school one Spring afternoon. He was attending a Catholic school near my home, and didn’t have a ride back that day.
I went to pick him up, and first had to walk through a long corridor. My heart grew very heavy and sweet as I saw childrens’ drawings of Jesus in the form of a candle decorating the hallway. “J”’s father is Catholic, and his mother is somewhere in between, and at that point in my life, I felt profound sorrow for children who are not raised in faith. While I still feel and share this, I wondered what happened with children who attend Catholic school who return home to be ridiculed by their parents over their teaching in school.
When I finally found “J” – he affectionately grabbed my hand as we walked out of the classroom. I seated him in the backseat of my car, and was not prepared in the least that once again this child would rip my heart in two.
It was raining that day, and I turned to “J” and said “so, what did you learn in school today?”
He answered me in a way as though it had nothing to do with classroom activity, but instead a profound discovery. He said, “Did you know Jesus created the whole world?”
I nearly swerved the car.
“Yes, J. He did. Is that what you learned today?”
“Jesus made everything. He made the flowers, the trees, the rain.”
I looked into the rear view mirror to see his face, and his eyes were wandering through the visions outside the window.
“And the people, and the sun!”
“Yes, J, He did!”
“The sun and the planets and the Earth. But the sun is not a planet. It’s a star.”
“Did you learn that in school too?”
“No. I learned that from Dr. Seuss.”
I pulled up in front of his house, but there wasn’t a parking spot, so I pulled into the alley next to the house. He indignantly said,
“Don’t park here. There might be people that need to get through. Can you move the car back so people can drive?”
The generosity of this moment was so great, that I absolutely felt the need to implore him.
My eyes were welled up with tears as I dropped him back off at home, and I prayed that his spirit in faith wouldn’t be squashed neither now nor in the future.
Over a year later, I was visiting with his family. I stopped by one afternoon, and he was awake and very social. I used to wear a Saint Benedict medal that was blessed by a priest (it now hangs in my apartment because the clasp on the chain broke.) I always had a special place in my heart for “J”’s soul and faith, which I had kept very private and personal between myself, very few others, and God.
We were playing at the house, and suddenly “J” caught a glimpse of the St. Benedict medal.
He said “I know what that is!”
To my and his mother’s astonishment I said “you do?”
“Yes. That is a Saint.”
“J” had been pulled out of Catholic school the year before to enter public school, so atop this – it was all coming as a great surprise.
“Yes, it is a Saint! It’s Saint Benedict.”
His mother looked at us like he’s just confessed he arrived off another planet. He continued,
“I know what a saint does!” His smile beamed from ear to ear.
“Oh?” I replied as his mother stood in quizzical response.
“Yes. A Saint looks down on us from Heaven.”
I had to fight back the tears once again. The medal has an inscription in Latin surrounding the relief of St. Benedict, and I said “That’s right.”
He smiled again tracing his fingers along the inscription and said, “I know what that says! It says L+H, right?”
His nickname for me starts with an L, and my husband’s starts with an H.
“I hope so, J.”
To hear this coming from the mouth of a 5 year old struck my heart so deeply. I continue to pray that “J” learns to love and serve the Lord in purity through the eyes of a child.
Gospel According to Saint Matthew 18: 1-5
“At that time the disciples approached Jesus and said, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.”
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